•v- 


L 


THE   LAST  WORDS   OF 
THOMAS  CARLYLE 


WOTTON  REINFRED  :  A  ROMANCE 

EXCURSION  (FUTILE  ENOUGH)  TO  PARIS 

LETTERS 


NEW    YORK 

D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 
1892 


COPYRIGHT,  1892, 
By  D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY. 


ELECTROTYPED  AND  PRINTED 
AT  THE  APPLBTON  PRESS,  U.  S.  A. 


INTRODUCTION. 


THE  two  manuscripts  included  in  The 
Last  Words  of  Thomas  Carlyle  were  left  among 
the  author's  papers  at  his  death.  One  of 
them,  Wotton  Reinfred,  is  Carlyle's  only  essay 
in  fiction,  and  it  therefore  possesses  so  dis- 
tinctive an  interest  that  its  omission  from 
Carlyle's  complete  works  would  not  be  justi- 
fiable. The  other,  Excursion  (Futile  EnougJi) 
to  Paris,  offers  a  vivid  picture  of  Carlyle's 
personality.  By  the  publication  of  these  two 
manuscripts,  with  the  accompanying  letters,  a 
new  and  considerable  volume  is  added  to  the 
list  of  Carlyle's  works. 

Wotton  Reinfred  was  probably  written  soon 
after  Carlyle's  marriage,  at  the  time  when  he 
and  his  wife  entertained  the  idea  of  produc- 
ing a  novel  in  collaboration.  The  romance 


iv  INTRODUCTION. 

may  be  said  to  possess  a  peculiar  psychologi- 
cal interest,  inasmuch  as  it  represents  the 
earlier  period  of  Carlyle's  literary  develop- 
ment. In  the  labored  but  not  faulty  style, 
the  most  familiar  characteristics  of  the  writ- 
er's later  work  are  only  occasionally  apparent. 
So  far  as  matter  is  concerned,  the  reader  will 
not  be  slow  to  discover,  in  the  conversations 
of  Wotton  and  the  Doctor,  the  first  expres- 
sion of  ideas  and  doctrines  afterward  set 
forth  with  more  formality  in  Sartor  Resartus. 
"  It  is  a  poor  philosophy  which  can  be  taught 
in  words,"  is  the  Doctor's  proposition.  "  We 
talk  and  talk,  and  talking  without  acting, 
though  Socrates  were  the  speaker,  does  not 
help  our  case,  but  aggravates  it.  Thou  must 
act,  thou  must  work,  thou  must  do !  Collect 
thyself,  compose  thyself,  find  what  is  wanting 
that  so  tortures  thee,  do  but  attempt  with  all 
thy  strength  to  attain  it,  and  thou  art  saved." 
Here  is  the  doctrine  afterward  expanded  by 
Teufelsdrockh  in  Sartor  Resartus. 

Concerning  Carlyle's  judgment  of  his  con- 
temporaries, he  has  often  enlightened  us  with 


INTRODUCTION.  v 

his  wonted  frankness,  but  in  Wotton  Rein/red 
alone  he  appears  as  the  writer  of  a  romance 
whose  characters  are  drawn  from  real  life. 
On  this  point  we  may  quote  Mr.  James  An- 
thony Froude,  who  says : 

"  The  interest  of  Wot  ton  Reinfred  to  me  is 
considerable  from  the  sketches  which  it  con- 
tains of  particular  men  and  women,  most  of 
whom  I  knew  and  could,  if  necessary,  identify. 
The  story,  too,  is  taken  generally  from  real 
life,  and  perhaps  Carlyle  did  not  finish  it  from 
the  sense  that  it  could  not  be  published  while 
the  persons  and  things  could  be  recognized. 
That  objection  to  the  publication  no  longer 
exists.  Everybody  is  dead  whose  likenesses 
have  been  drawn,  and  the  incidents  stated 
have  long  been  forgotten." 

Mr.  Leslie  Stephen  adds  to  this  testimony 
in  a  letter  from  which  we  make  the  following 
extract : 

"  It  is  interesting  as  a  historical  document. 
It  gives  Carlyle  before  he  had  adopted  his 
peculiar  manner,  and  yet  there  are  some  char- 
acteristic bits — especially  at  the  beginning — in 


vi  INTRODUCTION. 

the  Sartor  Resartus  vein.  I  take  it  that  these 
are  reminiscences  of  Irving  and  of  the  Thack- 
eray circle,  and  there  is  a  curious  portrait  of 
Coleridge,  not  very  thinly  veiled.  There  is 
enough  autobiography,  too,  of  interest  in  its 
way." 

The  Excursion  (Futile  EnougJi)  to  Paris  is 
the  unreserved  daily  record  of  a  journey  in 
company  with  the  Brownings,  when  Carlyle 
paid  a  visit  to  Lord  Ashburton.  That  this 
record  is  characteristic,  and  that  it  presents  a 
singularly  vivid  picture  of  the  writer's  per- 
sonality, is  self-evident.  It  is  a  picture  which 
adds  something  to  our  knowledge  of  Carlyle 
the  man,  and  is  therefore  worth  preservation. 
The  world  has  long  since  known  that  even 
Carlyle's  heroic  figure  may  claim  the  sympa- 
thy and  pity  due  a  great  soul  fretting  against 
its  material  environments. 


WOTTON    REINFRED. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  SURELY,"  said  Wotton,  as  he  sat  by  the 
clear  evening  fire  engaged  in  various  talk 
with  his  friend,  "  surely,  my  good  Doctor,  the 
poet  is  wrong ;  and  happiness  if  it  be  the  aim 
was  never  meant  to  be  the  end  of  our  being." 
The  old  Doctor  gave  a  quiet  smile.  "  Hap- 
piness ! "  continued  Wotton  with  increasing 
vehemence,  "happiness!  where  is  it?  The 
foolish  can  not  find  it,  the  wisest  have  sought 
for  it  in  vain.  Not  on  the  towering  heights 
of  royalty,  not  in  the  houses  of  the  rich  and 
noble,  not  down  in  the  thatched  hut  of  the 
peasant  does  it  dwell.  The  ambitious,  be  it 
in  the  cabinet,  the  battle-field,  or  the  counting- 
room,  discovers  after  a  thousand  mocking  dis- 
appointments that  he  is  a  hapless  drudge  ;  the 
voluptuary  dies  despicable  and  wretched,  like 

Copyright,  1892,  by  D.  Appleton  and  Company. 


2  WOT  TON  REIN  FRED 

a  putrid  gourd  ;  Brutus  exclaims,  '  O  virtue, 
I  have  worshipped  thee  as  a  substance,  and 
must  I  find  thee  a  shadow  ? '  But  Science ! 
Yes,  Science !  And  what  does  Science  teach 
us?  The  wisdom  of  living?  The  nature  of 
our  own  being,  and  the  art  of  directing  it 
aright?  Alas !  alas !  on  these  things  she  speaks 
not  but  in  enigmas ;  for  darkness  and  the 
shadow  of  doubt  rest  over  the  path  of  our 
pilgrimage,  and  at  our  journey's  end  the 
wisest  of  us  can  but  exclaim  with  the  old 
sage  :  Foede  mundum  intravi,  miser  vixi,  pertur- 
batus  morior  !  " 

"  Do  not  forget  his  prayer,"  said  the 
other,  meekly. 

"Yes!  O  causa  causarum,  miserere  mei!" 
cried  Reinfred,  looking  upwards,  with  tears 
almost  starting  to  his  eyes.  "Miserere  mei!  " 
repeated  he,  throwing  himself  down  on  the 
table,  and  hiding  his  face  in  his  hands. 

His  cousin  looked  at  him  sympathisingly, 
but  spoke  not, 

"  And  yet,"  cried  the  other,  starting  up, 
and  throwing  back  his  head  to  conceal  the 


WOTTON  REIN  FRED.  3 

wetness  of  his  eyes,  "  if  He  DO  NOT  hear  me  ? 
If  there  is  no  ear  to  hear  me ;  and  the  voice 
of  my  sorrow  peals  unreturned  through  the 
grim  wilderness,  and  only  the  echo  of  the 
dead  rocks  replies  to  me  in  the  gloom !  O 
heaven  and  earth,  what  am  I  or  where  am  I  ? 
Alone !  Alone !  They  are  dead,  all  dead, 
buried  beneath  the  ground  or  faithless  above 
it,  and  for  me  there  is  no  soul  that  careth ! 
Forgive  me,  my  father,"  continued  he,  after  a 
moment's  pause ;  "  I  do  you  wrong,  but  I  am 
very  weak;  and  surely  these  things  will  kill 
me  soon." 

"  Dear  boy,"  said  his  friend,  "  you  are  not 
to  blame,  you  take  the  matter  like  a  young 
man  as  you  are  ;  because  hope  has  hid  herself 
you  think  she  is  utterly  fled.  Tush,  I  tell  you, 
all  this  is  nonsense,  and  you  will  see  it  yet 
though  you  think  my  words  but  wind.  You 
were  twenty-two  last  Christmas,  and  the  life 
of  man  is  three  score  years  and  ten.  You 
have  much  to  do,  and  much  to  learn  in  this 
world ;  only  nature  must  have  her  course, 
nay,  she  is  teaching  you  even  now,  teaching 


4  WOTTON  RE  IN  FRED. 

you  with  hard  but  useful  stripes,  and  you  will 
act  your  part  the  better  and  more  wisely  for 
it." 

"  It  is  acted  already,"  said  the  other,  bit- 
terly, "  and  the  curtain  is  dropped,  and  I  have 
nothing  more  to  do  but  undress,  but  shuffle 
off  this  mortal  coil." 

"Dropped?  Aye,  but  not  the  green  one, 
it  is  the  painted  curtain  that  has  dropped,  and 
the  first  act  truly  is  done,  and  we  have  other 
four  to  come  to.  Pity  that  our  interlude  of 
music  were  not  gayer,  but  we  must  even  put 
up  with  it,  sighs  and  groans  though  it  be.  O, 
Wotton  Reinfred,  thou  art  beside  thyself ; 
much  learning  doth  make  thee  mad.  I  swear 
it  is  even  so,"  continued  he,  rising  into  his 
usual  lively  tone.  "  There  hast  thou  sat  por- 
ing over  thy  Geometries  and  Stereometries, 
thy  Fluxions  direct  and  inverse,  by  the  New- 
tonian and  the  Leibnitzian  method,  thy  Uni- 
versal History,  thy  Scotch  Philosophy  and 
French  Poetics,  till  thy  eyes  are  dazed  with  so 
many  lamps,  and  for  very  light  thou  canst  not 
see  a  glimpse,  and  so  in  thy  head  the  world  is 


WOTTON  REIN  FRED.  5 

whirling  like  a  sick  man's  dream,  and  for  thee 
it  has  neither  top  nor  bottom,  beginning,  mid- 
dle, nor  end !  I  care  not  for  thy  scepticism, 
Wotton :  I  tell  thee,  it  will  grow  to  be  belief, 
and  all  the  sounder  for  thy  once  having 
doubted.  I  say  so  because  thy  froward  mind 
is  honest  withal,  and  thou  lovest  truth  sin- 
cerely. But  deuce  take  it,  man !  I  would 
have  had  thee  pleading  in  the  courts  like  a 
brave  advocate — " 

"  Illustrating  the  case  of  Stradling  versus 
Styles,"  cried  Reinfred,  hastily,  for  the  talk 
displeased  him.  "Spending  my  immortal 
spirit,  in  vain  jangling,  for  a  piece  of  bread  ? 
I  have  bread  already." 

"  So  much  the  better !  But  the  honour,  the 
use  to  others — " 

"May  be  strongly  doubted,"  cried  the 
youth,  still  more  sharply. 

"  Well,  I  grant  it  would  not  do,"  said  the 
Doctor,  hastening  to  quit  this  rather  thorny 
province.  "Thou  hadst  a  heart  too,  but  we 
could  not  master  it ;  six  months  of  the  Institute 
had  no  whit  abated  thy  aversion,  nay,  thy  hor- 


6  WOTTON  REINFRED. 

ror ;  and  at  last,  when  I  saw  thee  after  a  reso- 
lute night  as  Justice  of  the  Peace  absolutely 
seized  with  a  kind  of  tetanus  or  locked-jaw,  I 
myself  was  obliged  to  vote  that  we  should 
give  it  up." — "  Heigho  !  "  ejaculated  Wotton. 
"  But  now,  in  Heaven's  name,"  continued  the 
Doctor,  "  what  is  it  that  should  so  overcloud 
thee,  nay  for  ever  benight  thee  notwithstand- 
ing? Are  we  not  here  in  thy  own  walled 
house,  amid  thy  own  freehold  fields?  Hast 
thou  no  talent  that  this  world  has  use  for? 
Young,  healthy ;  a  proper  fellow  of  thy  inches ; 
learned  too,  though  I  say  it,  for  thy  years ; 
and  independent,  if  not  rich  !  Pshaw  !  Is  thy 
game  lost  because  the  first  trick  has  gone 
against  thee  ?  Patience,  and  shuffle  the  cards ! 
Is  the  world  all  dead  because  Edmund  Walter 
is  a  scoundrel  jackanapes,  and — " 

"  Good  God  !  "  cried  Wotton,  starting  from 
his  seat,  and  pacing  hurriedly  over  the  floor, 
"can  you  not  spare  me?  What  have  I  to  do 
with  Edmund  Walter?  The  tiger-ape  !  "  cried 
he,  stamping  on  the  ground,  "  with  his  body 
and  shoulder  knots,  his  smirks  and  fleers !  A 


WOT  TON  RE  IN  FRED.  j 

gilt  outside,  and  within  a  very  lazar-house! 
Gayspeeches,  a  most  frolick  sunny  thing ;  and 
in  its  heart  the  poison  of  asps !  O  the —  But 
I  will  not  curse  him.  No,  poor  devil!  He 
but  follows  the  current  of  his  own  vile  nature, 
like  the  rest  of  us.  God  help  him — and  me  !  " 
added  he,  pausing,  with  a  deep  sigh. 

"  Yet  it  is  strange,"  said  the  other,  "  how 
this  puppy  could  muster  rhetoric  for  such  a 
thing.  Strange  that  for  a  cap  and  feather  Jane 
Montagu  should  have —  " 

"  Doctor ! "  said  Wotton,  turning  towards 
him  abruptly,  with  a  look  striving  to  be  calm. 
"  I  shall  request  of  you  never  to  mention  that 
name  in  my  hearing  again." 

"  Pooh,  think  not  of  her,  or  think  of  her  as 
she  merits.  A  selfish  minx  after  all ;  brighter 
talents,  but  no  sounder  judgment,  or  truer  heart 
than  the  rest  of  them  ;  a  worthless —  " 

"  O  do  not  blame  her !  Who  knows  how 
much  or  how  little  she  was  to  blame?  The 
thraldom  of  her  situation,  her  youth,  that  cold 
cozening  cruel  woman  ;  all  things  were  against 
us.  No,  worthless  she  was  not;  and  if  her 


g  WOTTON  REIN  FRED, 

heart  was  false,  it  was  doubly  and  trebly  false, 
for  she  knew  the  light  and  yet  chose  darkness 
rather  than  light.  But  could  she  love  that 
caitiff?  She  must  have  loved  him!  O  there 
is  a  dark  baleful  mystery  over  it  which  I 
shall  never  pierce  through.  Would  she  were 
gone  from  my  thoughts,  gone  as  if  she  had  not 
been ;  for  here  the  remembrance  of  her  is  but 
a  curse.  Was  it  not  hard?  One  only  hope, 
and  that  to  mock  me  with  the  Fiend's  arch 
scoff!  The  world  was  dead  around  me,  the 
last  heart  that  loved  me  in  the  cold  grave ;  all 
efforts  baffled,  one  by  one  the  green  places  of 
my  universe  scathed  and  blackened  into  ashes ; 
my  whole  life  one  error,  a  seeking  of  light  and 
goodness  and  a  finding  of  darkness  and  de- 
spair. I  was  to  myself  as  a  frightful  mistake  ; 
a  spectre  in  the  middle  of  breathing  men,  an 
unearthly  presence,  that  ought  not  to  be  there. 
And  she — O  fair  and  golden  as  the  dawn  she 
rose  upon  my  soul.  Night  with  its  ghastly 
fantasms  fled  away  ;  and  beautiful  and  solemn 
in  earnest  shade  and  gay  sunshine  lay  our  life 
before  me.  And  then,  and  then !  O  God,  a 


WOT  TON  REINFRED.  g 

gleam  of  hell  passed  over  the  face  of  my  an- 
gel, and  the  pageant  was  rolled  together  like  a 
scroll,  and  thickest  darkness  fell  over  me,  and 
I  heard  the  laughter  of  a  demon !  But  what 
of  it?"  cried  he,  suddenly  checking  himself. 
"  It  was  a  vision,  a  brief  calenture,  a  thing  that 
belonged  not  to  this  earth." 

He  stood  gazing  out  upon  the  starry  night. 
The  old  man  approached,  but  knew  not  what 
to  say.  "  Do  they  not  look  down  on  us  as  if 
with  pity  from  their  serene  spaces,"  said  Rein- 
fred,  "  like  eyes  glistening  with  heavenly  tears 
over  the  poor  perplexities  of  man?  '  Herr- 
liche  Gefiihle  esttarren  in,'  etc.  Their  bright- 
ness is  not  bedimmed  by  any  vapour,  the 
mists  of  our  troubled  planet  do  not  reach 
them.  Thousands  of  human  generations  all 
as  noisy  as  our  own  have  been  engulphed  in 
the  abyss  of  time,  and  there  is  no  wreck  of 
them  seen  any  more  ;  and  Arcturus  and  Orion 
and  the  Pleiades  are  still  shining  in  their 
courses,  clear  and  young  as  when  the  shep- 
herd first  noted  them  on  the  plain  of  Shinar. 
O  what  is  life,  or  why  should  we  sorrow  or  joy 


10  WOT  TON  REINFRED. 

over  it  when  it  is  but  for  a  moment?  What 
is  all  the  earth  and  all  that  have  inherited 
or  shall  inherit  it?  Blot  it  out  utterly  and 
it  is  not  missed  from  the  Creation.  Blot 
me  out,  and  shall  I  be  missed  ?  Shame  on 
me,  foolish  child,  to  whine  for  such  a 
toy!" 

"  Truth,  virtue,  beauty,  are  in  man,"  said 
the  other ;  "  they  are  older  than  the  stars,  and 
will  live  when  these  too  have  returned  to  the 
void  night  whence  they  were  called  forth  in 
the  beginning.  O  Wotton,  my  son,  thou  wilt 
know  and  feel  this  at  last,  though  now  thou 
know  it  not;  and  affliction  will  be  precious 
which  teaches  thee  such  knowledge."  Wot- 
ton shook  his  head.  "  But  I  am  wrong,"  con- 
tinued he.  "  Why  do  I  lead  thee  to  such 
thoughts  ?  It  is  a  poor  philosophy  which  can 
be  taught  in  words :  we  talk  and  talk ;  and 
talking  without  acting,  though  Socrates  were 
the  speaker,  does  not  help  our  case  but  aggra- 
vate it.  Thou  must  act,  thou  must  work,  thou 
must  do!  Collect  thyself,  compose  thyself,  find 
what  is  wanting  that  so  tortures  thee  ;  do  but 


WOT  TON  REIN  FRED.  II 

attempt  with  all  thy  strength  to  attain  it  and 
thou  art  saved." 

"Wanting?"  said  Wotton.  "Wanting? 
There  is  nothing  wanting  but  deepest  sleep, 
where  there  were  no  dreams  to  trouble  me. 
Ere  long  I  shall  find  it  in  my  mother's  bosom. 
But  what  of  this?"  added  he,  impatiently. 
"  Why  do  we  talk,  as  thou  sayest,  when  there 
is  nothing  to  be  done?  O,  my  old  friend,  I 
abuse  your  goodness,  and  load  you  with  griefs 
which  I  should  bear  myself.  Forgive  me,  for- 
give me.  I  was  not  always  weak.  It  must 
alter,  for  the  better  or  the  worse  it  must." 

"  For  the  better !  "  cried  the  Doctor,  cheer- 
ily. "  It  must  and  will.  I  tell  thee  help  is  on 
the  road :  it  will  arrive  when  we  least  think  of 
it.  But  enough !  Now  tell  me,  to  come  to 
business  at  last,  what  sayest  thou  to  Mosely's 
letter?" 

"  That  travelling  will  not  recreate  me  ;  that 
I  want  no  spiritual  leech,  for  spiritual  recipes 
cannot  avail ;  that  Mosely  is  a  good  man,  but 
knows  nothing  of  my  '  case '  as  he  calls  it ;  in 
brief,  that  I  cannot  and  must  not  go." 


12  WOT  TON  RE  IN  FRED. 

"  Dost  thou  know  I  came  hither  solely  to 
persuade  thee  ;  to  offer  myself  as  thy  compan- 
ion?" 

"  My  good,  kind,  only  friend  !  But  why 
should  it  be  ?  Why  should  I  intrude  upon 
happy  men :  to  sit  in  their  circle  like  a  death's- 
head,  marring  all  pleasure  by  my  sepulchral 
moods  ?  Leave  me  to  fight  with  my  own  des- 
picable fate.  Here  in  the  mountains  I  con- 
sume my  griefs  in  silence,  and  except  when 
you  in  your  chivalrous  benevolence  come 
over  to  doctor  me,  I  trouble  no  one  with 
them." 

"  Be  my  patient  then  for  once,"  cried  the 
other:  "what  harm  can  it  do?  Your  books 
have  ceased  to  please  you,  and  you  are  learn- 
ing nothing  from  them  but  to  doubt.  Your 
long  rides  among  the  moors  do  but  feed  your 
melancholy  humour.  You  can  neither  shoot, 
nor  hunt,  nor  dine.  You  keep  no  race-horses, 
and  the  Commission  of  Supply  does  not  fire 
your  ambition.  What  have  you  to  do  here  ? 
Arise,  let  us  mingle  in  the  full  current  of  life, 
or  at  least  survey  it  for  a  season.  Who  knows 


WOT  TON  REIN  FRED.  13 

what  fine  things  we  may  see  and  do  ?  Frank 
Mosely  is  a  true  man,  and  you  will  learn  to 
love  him ;  he  already  loves  you.  Your  case, 
too,  he  understands  better  than  you  think. 
Let  me  read  you  this,"  cried  he,  taking  out  a 
letter  and  leading  Wotton  back  to  the  table. 

"O,  I  know  it  already!  The  old  story 
over  again,  be  not  solitary,  be  not  idle.  And 
good  heaven !  what  am  I  that  people  should 
quacksalver  me  with  their  nostrums?  Does 
Mosely  keep  a  private  bedlam  for  afflicted 
scholars?  Or  would  he  dissect  me  and  ex- 
periment upon  me?" 

"  Patience  !  patience  !  "  said  the  other ;  "  he 
is  a  good  man,  and  my  friend.  Do  but  lis- 
ten." He  read  as  follows  : 

"...  reXo9  6,  etc.  The  end  of  man  is  an  ac- 
tion, not  a  thought,  says  Aristotle ;  the  wisest 
thing  he  ever  said.  Doubt  is  natural  to  a 
human  being,  for  his  conceptions  are  infinite, 
his  powers  are  only  finite.  Nevertheless  it 
must  be  removed,  and  this  not  by  negation 
but  by  affirmation.  From  experience  springs 
belief,  from  speculation  doubt,  but  idleness  is 


!4  WOTTON  REIN  FRED. 

the  mother  of  unbelief.  Neither  is  our  happi- 
ness passive,  but  only  active  ;  few  men  know 
this,  though  all  in  words  admit  it,  hence  their 
life  is  a  perpetual  seeking  without  finding. 

"  Bring  thy  friend  Reinfred  hither ;  I  have 
long  known  him,  though  he  knows  not  me. 
So  fair  a  nature  will  not  perish  in  its  own  su- 
perfluity, be  its  circumstances  for  the  present 
never  so  perplexed.  His  state  is  painful,  but 
in  the  end  it  yields  peaceable  fruits.  It  must 
at  some  time  be  the  state  of  all  men  who  are 
destined  to  be  men.  Bring  him  hither,  that 
he  may  see  what  he  has  yet  but  heard  of. 
Time  will  indeed  be  his  physician,  be  it  there 
or  here  :  but  I  would  gladly  do  myself  a  pleas- 
ure in  knowing  him.  Happy  and  unhappy  two- 
legged  animals  about  me  are  many,  but  hap- 
py or  even  unhappy  men  are  very  few.  .  .  ." 

The  discussion  of  this  matter  between  our 
friends  was  protracted  to  a  late  hour ;  Wotton 
urging  his  own  misanthropic  habitudes,  his 
hatred  of  change,  his  inacquaintance  with 
Mosely,  and  the  folly  and  hopelessness  of  the 
whole  project ;  his  cousin  answering  all  his 


WOT  TON  REINFRED.  !j 

cold  noes  with  as  many  warm  yeas,  and  plead- 
ing at  last  that  in  this  whim  of  his,  if  he  had 
ever  merited  ought,  he  might  for  this  once  be 
gratified.  "  It  is  a  thing  I  have  set  my  heart 
on,"  said  he  ;  "  and  I  shall  be  positively  un- 
happy if  thou  deny  me."  Reinfred  loved  his 
cousin  ;  esteemed  him  as  a  man  of  unintelligi- 
ble or  mistaken  views  indeed,  but  of  the  kind- 
est heart,  whose  helpful  sympathy  he  had 
often  taken  in  the  hour  of  need,  and  who  now, 
sad,  lonely,  down-pressed  and  darkened  as  the 
young  man  seemed,  might  almost  be  said  to 
form  the  last  link  that  still  in  any  wise  con- 
nected him  with  the  living  and  loving  world. 
After  long  resistance  he  began  to  yield,  and 
before  parting  for  the  night  a  faint  assent  was 
wrung  from  him.  "  Why  many  words?"  said 
he,  "  if  it  really  can  do  anything  for  thee,  mis- 
taken as  thou  art ;  against  me  it  can  do  noth- 
ing." 

Next  morning  the  cousin  took  his  leave 
and  rode  home  to  make  arrangements  for  the 
journey,  as  the  third  day  was  fixed  upon  for 
their  departure. 


CHAPTER   II. 

RELUCTANTLY  as  Wotton  had  consented 
to  this  scheme,  the  good  effects  of  it  were 
already  beginning  to  be  felt.  The  prepara- 
tions and  preliminary  settlements  produced  a 
wholesome  diversion  of  his  thoughts,  so  many 
little  outward  cares  constraining  him  to  calcu- 
lation and  exertion,  the  unusual  bustle  of 
his  still  house,  all  contributed  to  draw  him 
from  the  dark  Trophonius'  cave  of  his  own 
imagination  into  the  light  and  warmth  of 
day. 

As  he  rode  along  through  the  bright  morn- 
ing to  his  lawyer,  that  he  might  finish,  after 
long  loitering,  some  acts  of  business  relating 
to  his  little  property,  and  some  acts  of  benefi- 
cence to  one  or  two  poor  peasants  dependent 
on  him,  he  almost  felt  as  if  he  were  in  very 
deed  ceasing  to  be  an  alien  from  the  common- 


WOTTON  REIN  FRED.  \j 

wealth  of  men,  as  if  he  too  had  some  duties  to 
perform  in  his  own  sphere,  barren  and  hum- 
ble though  it  was.  The  journey  itself,  though 
he  viewed  it  with  little  pleasure,  nay  in  gen- 
eral with  a  sort  of  captious  regret,  was  yet  a 
prospect  if  not  a  hope,  and  thus  the  future,  if 
not  filled  with  inviting  forms,  was  no  longer 
absolutely  void.  Nay  in  spite  of  himself  some 
promise  of  enjoyment  rose  faintly  over  his 
mind  ;  for  the  plastic  vigour  of  young  fancies 
which  shapes  such  landscapes  in  the  clouds, 
though  sorely  marred  in  him  was  not  extinct, 
and  where  good  and  evil  are  both  possible, 
there  is  no  such  perverse  alchemy  as  will  ex- 
clusively select  the  latter.  He  could  not  deny 
that  he  felt  some  curiosity  to  know  Mosely 
and  his  circle,  so  enigmatic  as  it  seemed,  from 
all  that  he  had  learned ;  it  may  be  even  that 
unconsciously  some  low  whisper  of  his  lost 
Jane  Montagu  mingled  in  his  fantasies,  some 
unavowed  hope  of  again  being  cast  into  her 
neighbourhood,  of  seeing  and  hearing  her 
once  more,  and  though  not  of  recovering  her 
affection,  for  that  he  could  not  even  wish,  at 


1 8  WOT  TON  REIN  FRED. 

least  of  understanding  how  it   had  been  for 
ever  lost. 

Wotton  was  one  of  those  natures  which  it 
is  of  most  importance  to  educate  rightly,  but 
also  of  greatest  difficulty,  and  which  accord- 
ingly with  a  capricious  contradiction  we  often 
find  worse  educated  than  any  other.  In  early 
boyhood  he  had  lost  his  father,  a  man  of  an 
equal  but  stern  and  indignant  temper,  soured 
also  by  disappointments  and  treacheries,  which 
had  driven  him  at  middle  age  from  the  com- 
merce of  the  world,  to  hide  his  shattered  for- 
tunes, his  great  talents,  and  too  fiery  but  hon- 
est and  resolute  spirit,  in  the  solitude  of  his 
little  rustic  patrimony.  Here  in  this  barren 
seclusion  he  had  lived,  repelling  from  him  by 
a  certain  calm  but  iron  cynicism  all  advances 
either  of  courtesy  or  provocation,  an  isolated 
man,  busied  only  with  the  culture  of  his  land, 
amused  only  by  studies  of  philosophy  and 
literature,  which  no  one  but  himself  under- 
stood or  valued.  To  neighbours  he  was  an 
object  of  spleen,  of  aversion ;  yet  on  the 
whole  of  envy  rather  than  of  pity,  for  he 


WOT  TON  REIN  FRED.  \  9 

seemed  complete  in  himself,  free  of  all  men, 
fearless  of  all  men,  a  very  king  in  his  own 
domain.  Even  happy  he  might  appear,  but 
it  was  not  so,  for  the  worm  of  pride  was  still 
gnawing  at  his  heart,  and  his  philosophy  pre- 
tended not  to  root  it  out  but  only  to  con- 
ceal it. 

In  a  few  years  his  deep-shrouded  chagrin 
undermined  his  health,  a  slight  sickness  gath- 
ered unexpected  aggravation,  and  he  sank 
darkly  into  the  grave  with  all  his  ineffectual 
nobleness,  wayward  and  wilful  in  himself, 
mistaken  by  the  world,  and  broken  by  it 
though  he  could  not  be  bent.  Of  this  parent 
Wotton  recollected  nothing,  save  his  strong, 
earnest,  silent  figure,  and  a  vague  unpleasant 
impression  from  him  of  restraint  and  awe. 

The  mother,  to  whose  sole  guidance  he 
was  now  committed,  had  a  mother's  love  for 
her  boy,  and  was  in  all  respects  a  true-minded 
woman  ;  but  for  such  a  spirit  as  Wotton's  no 
complete  though  in  some  points  a  most  pre- 
cious instructress.  She  trained  his  heart  to 
the  love  of  all  truth  and  virtue  ;  but  of  his 


20  WOTTON  REINFRED. 

other  faculties  she  took  little  heed,  and  could 
take  little  proper  charge.  To  this  good  be- 
ing, intellect,  or  even  activity,  except  when, 
directed  to  the  purely  useful,  was  no  all-im- 
portant matter ;  for  her  soul  was  full  of  lofti- 
est religion,  and  truly  regarded  the  glories  of 
this  earth  as  light  chaff ;  nay,  we  may  say  she 
daily  and  almost  hourly  felt  as  if  the  whole 
material  world  were  but  a  vision  and  a  show, 
a  shadowy  bark  bound  together  only  by  the 
Almighty's  word,  and  transporting  us  as  if 
through  a  sea  of  dreams  to  the  solemn  shore 
of  Eternity,  in  whose  unutterable  light  the 
bark  would  melt  like  vapour,  and  we  our- 
selves awake  to  endless  weal  or  woe. 

In  her  secluded  life,  for  like  her  husband 
she  was  visited  by  few  except  the  needy  and 
distressed,  such  feelings  gathered  strength  ; 
were  reduced  to  principles  of  action,  and 
came  at  last  to  pervade  her  whole  conduct, 
most  of  all  her  conduct  to  her  sole  surviving 
child.  She  never  said  to  him  :  "  Be  great,  be 
learned,  be  rich ; "  but,  "  Be  good  and  holy, 
seek  God  and  thou  shalt  find  Him."  "  What 


WOT  TON  REIN  FRED.  21 

is  wealth  ? "  she  would  say ;  "  What  are 
crowns  and  sceptres?  The  fashion  of  them 
passeth  away.  Heed  not  the  world,  thou  hast 
a  better  inheritance ;  fear  it  not,  sufficient 
food  and  raiment  our  Father  will  provide 
thee ;  has  he  not  clothed  the  sparrow  against 
winter,  and  given  it  a  fenced  house  to  dwell 
in?"  She  wished  to  have  her  boy  instructed 
in  learning,  for  though  little  acquainted  with 
it  herself,  she  reverenced  it  deeply ;  but  judg- 
ing his  religious  and  moral  habitudes  of  far 
more  consequence,  she  would  not  part  with 
him  from  her  sight,  still  less  trust  him  among 
the  contaminations  of  a  boarding-school. 

To  read  and  write  she  had  herself  taught 
him  ;  the  former  talent  he  had  acquired  so 
early  that  it  seemed  less  an  art  than  a  faculty, 
for  he  could  not  recollect  his  ever  having 
wanted  it  or  learned  it.  So  soon  as  his 
strength  appeared  sufficient,  she  had  sent  him 
to  a  day-school  in  the  nearest  town,  a  distance 
of  six  miles,  which,  with  his  satchel  at  his 
back,  the  ruddy  urchin  used  to  canter  over  on 
his  little  shelty  evening  and  morning.  His 


22  WOT  TON  REINFRED. 

progress  was  the  boast  of  the  teachers ;  and 
the  timid  still  boy,  devoted  to  his  tasks  and 
rarely  mingling  in  the  pastimes,  never  in  the 
riots  of  his  fellows,  would  have  been  a  uni- 
versal favourite  in  any  community  less  selfish 
and  tyrannical  than  one  composed  of  school- 
boys. It  may  seem  strange  to  say  so ;  but 
among  these  little  men,  a  curious  observer 
will  detect  some  almost  frightful  manifesta- 
tions of  our  common  evil  nature.  What  cru- 
elty in  their  treatment  of  inferiors,  whether 
frogs,  vagrant  beggars,  or  weaker  boys  !  How 
utterly  the  hearts  of  the  little  wretches  seem 
dead  to  all  voice  of  mercy  or  justice.  It  is 
the  rude,  savage,  natural  man,  unchecked  by 
any  principle  of  reflection  or  even  calculation, 
and  obeying,  like  animals,  no  precept  but  that 
of  brute  giant  power. 

Poor  Wotton  had  a  sorry  time  of  it  in  this 
tumultuous,  cozening,  brawling,  club-law  com- 
monwealth :  he  had  not  friends  among  them, 
or  if  any  elder  boy  took  his  part,  feeling  some 
touch  of  pity  for  his  innocence  and  worth,  it 
was  only  for  a  moment,  and  his  usual  purga- 


WOT  TON  REIN  FRED.  23 

tory,  perhaps  aggravated  by  his  late  patron, 
returned  upon  him  with  but  greater  bitter- 
ness. They  flouted  him,  they  beat  him,  they 
jeered  and  tweaked  and  tortured  him  by  a 
thousand  cunning  arts,  to  all  which  he  could 
only  answer  with  his  tears ;  so  that  his  very 
heart  was  black  within  him,  and  in  his  sad- 
ness, of  which  he  would  not  complain,  and 
which  also  seemed  to  him  as  if  eternal,  he 
knew  not  what  to  do.  For  he  was  a  quiet, 
pensive  creature,  that  loved  all  things,  his 
shelty,  the  milk-cow,  nay  the  very  cat,  un- 
grateful termageant  though  she  was ;  and  so 
shy  and  soft  withal,  that  he  generally  passed 
for  cowardly,  and  his  tormentors  had  named 
him  "  weeping  Wotton,"  and  marked  him 
down  as  a  proper  enough  bookworm,  but  one 
without  a  particle  of  spirit.  However,  in  this 
latter  point  they  sometimes  overshot  them- 
selves, and  the  boldest  and  tallest  of  the  house 
have  quailed  before  the  "  weeping  Wotton," 
when  thoroughly  provoked,  for  his  fury  while 
it  lasted  was  boundless,  his  little  face  gleamed 
like  a  thunderbolt,  and  no  fear  of  earthly  or 


24  WOTTON  RE  IN  FRED. 

unearthly  thing  could  hold  him  from  the  heart 
of  his  enemy. 

But  the  sway  of  this  fire-eyed  genius  was 
transient  as  the  spark  of  the  flint;  his  com- 
rades soon  learned  the  limits  of  danger,  and 
adjusting  their  operations  with  a  curious  ac- 
curacy to  the  properties  of  their  material,  con- 
tinued to  harass  him,  more  cunningly,  but  not 
less  effectually  than  before. 

All  these  things  acted  on  Wotton  with 
deep  and  mostly  unfavourable  influences  ;  fret- 
ting into  morbid  quickness  his  already  exces- 
sive sensibility,  and  increasing  the  develop- 
ment of  his  shy  secluded  nature.  His  mother 
and  her  calm  circle,  the  sole  spot  in  the  earth 
where  he  could  have  peace,  became  doubly 
dear  to  him ;  and  he  knew  no  joy  till,  mount- 
ing his  pony,  and  leaving  the  pavement  of  the 
burgh  behind  him,  he  could  resign  himself 
among  shady  alleys  and  green  fields  to  a 
thousand  dreams,  which  fancy  was  already 
building  for  him  in  clouds  of  all  gayest  hues. 
In  the  future  he  was  by  turns  a  hero  and  a 
sage,  in  both  provinces  the  benefactor  and 


WOTTON  REIN  FRED.  2$ 

wonder  of  the  world ;  and  would  weave  a  his- 
tory for  himself,  of  dainty  texture,  resuming  it 
day  after  day,  and  sometimes  continuing  it  for 
months  and  years.  The  bleak,  monotonous 
past  itself  was  beautified  in  his  thoughts ;  its 
sorrows  were  like  steep  rocks,  no  longer  sharp 
and  stern,  rising  in  the  distance  amid  green 
sunny  fields  of  joy.  All  forms  of  his  earlier 
years  rose  meeker  and  kinder  in  his  memory  ; 
especially  the  figure  of  a  little  elder  sister, 
with  whom  he  had  played  in  trustful  gladness 
in  infancy,  but  whom  death  had  snatched 
away  from  him  before  he  knew  what  the  King 
of  Terrors  was.  Since  the  departure  of  this 
little  one,  the  green  knolls,  the  dells  of  his  na- 
tive brook  had  been  lonelier  to  him  ;  indeed, 
he  was  almost  without  companion  of  his  own 
age,  but  his  mother's  bosom  was  still  open  to 
him,  and  from  her  he  had  yet  no  care  which  it 
concerned  him  to  hide. 

In  the  evenings,  above  all  on  holidays,  he 
was  happy,  for  then  the  afflictions  of  life  all 
lay  on  the  other  side  of  the  hill ;  he  wandered 
over  the  fields  in  a  thousand  gay  reveries ;  he 


26  WOT  TON  RE  IN  FRED. 

made  crossbows  and  other  implements  with 
his  knife,  or  stood  by  the  peasants  at  their 
work  and  listened  eagerly  to  their  words, 
which,  rude  as  they  might  be,  were  the  words 
of  grown  men,  and  awoke  in  him  forecastings 
of  a  distant  world.  Old  Stephen  in  particu- 
lar, the  family  gardener,  steward,  ploughman, 
majordomo  and  factotum,  he  could  have 
hearkened  to  for  ever.  Stephen  had  travelled 
much  in  his  time,  and  seen  the  manner  of 
many  men  ;  noting  noteworthy  things,  which 
his  shrewd  mind  wanted  not  skill  to  combine  in 
its  own  simplicity  into  a  consistent  philosophy 
of  life.  From  Stephen  also  he  had  half  bor- 
rowed, half  plundered,  certain  volumes  of 
plays  and  tales,  among  these  the  ever-memora- 
ble "  Arabian  Nights,"  which,  not  so  much 
read  as  devoured,  formed,  with  the  theologi- 
cal library  of  his  mother,  a  strange  enough 
combination.  These  fictions  Wotton  almost 
feared  were  little  better  than  falsehoods,  the 
reading  of  which  his  conscience  did  all  but 
openly  condemn,  for  he  believed,  as  he  had 
been  taught,  that  beyond  the  region  of  material 


WOT  TON  REIN  FRED:  27 

usefulness  religion  was  the  only  study  profit- 
able to  man.  Nor  was  he  behindhand  in  this 
latter,  at  least,  if  entire  zeal  could  suffice. 
Ever  in  his  great  Taskmaster's  eye,  he  watched 
over  his  words  and  actions  with  even  an  over- 
scrupulousness.  His  little  prayer  came  even- 
ing and  morning  from  a  full  heart,  and  life,  in 
the  thought  of  the  innocent  boy,  seemed  little 
else  than  a  pilgrimage  through  a  sacred  alley, 
with  the  pinnacles  of  the  Eternal  Temple  at 
its  close. 

xWith  increase  of  years  came  new  feelings, 
still  farther  complicated  by  change  of  scene. 
In  his  fifteenth  winter  he  was  sent  to  college ; 
a  measure  to  which  his  mother  had  consented 
by  the  advice  of  her  ancient  pastor,  and  the 
still  more  earnest  persuasion  of  Wotton's 
teacher,  and  to  the  fulfilment  of  which  the  boy 
himself  had  long  looked  forward  with  un- 
speakable anticipations.  The  seminary  was  in 
a  large  town  at  a  distance  of  many  miles ;  to 
Wotton,  a  pure  "city  of  the  mind,"  glorious 
as  the  habitation  of  wisdom,  and  cloud-capt 
in  his  fancy  with  all  earthly  splendour. 


28  WOT  TON  REINFRED, 

This  new  scene  might  have  worked  upon 
him  beneficially,  but  for  the  present  it  did  not. 
It  was  a  university  in  which  the  great  prin- 
ciple of  spiritual  liberty  was  admitted  in  its 
broadest  sense,  and  nature  was  left  to  all  not 
only  without  misguidance,  but  without  any 
guidance  at  all.  Wotton's  tasks  were  easy  of 
performance,  or,  rather,  the  performance  of 
them  was  recommended  not  enforced  ;  while 
for  the  rest  he  was  left  to  choose  his  own  so- 
ciety and  form  his  own  habits,  and  had  un- 
limited command  of  reading.  What  a  wild 
world  rose  before  him  as  he  read,  and  felt, 
and  saw,  with  as  yet  unworn  avidity  !  Young 
Nature  was  combining  with  this  strange  edu- 
cation to  unfold  the  universe  to  him  in  its 
most  chaotic  aspect.  What  with  history  and 
fiction,  what  with  philosophy  and  feeling,  it 
was  a  wondrous  Nowhere  that  his  spirit  dwelt 
in :  all  stood  before  him  in  indistinct  detached 
gigantic  masses ;  a  country  of  desire  and  ter- 
ror ;  baseless,  boundless ;  overspread  with 
dusky  or  black  shadows,  yet  glowing  here  and 
there  in  maddening  light.  To  all  this,  more- 


WOTTON  RE  IN  FRED.  2g 

over,  the  exasperating  influence  of  solitude 
was  superadded  ;  in  fact,  Wotton's  manner  of 
existence  was  little  less  secluded  than  ever; 
for  though  the  persecutions  of  his  school-fel- 
lows had  gradually  died  away  as  he  grew 
more  able  to  resist  them,  his  originally  back- 
ward temper  had  nowise  been  improved  by 
such  treatment.  Indeed,  a  keen  and  painful 
feeling  of  his  own  weakness,  added  to  a  cer- 
tain gloomy  consciousness  of  his  real  intrinsic 
superiority,  rendered  him  at  once  suspicious 
and  contemptuous  of  others. 

Besides,  in  the  conversation  of  his  equals 
he  truly  felt  little  sympathy ;  their  specula- 
tions were  of  far  more  earthly  matters  than 
his ;  and  in  their  amusements,  too  often  riot- 
ous and  libertine,  his  principle  forbade  him  to 
participate.  Only  with  the  little  knot  of  his 
countrymen,  in  the  narrowest  sense  of  that 
word,  did  he  stand  in  any  sort  of  relation ; 
and  even  of  these  he  often  felt  as  if  their  inter- 
course were  injuring  him  and  should  be  aban- 
doned, as  if  their  impure  influences  were  con- 
taminating and  seducing  him.  Contaminate 


3Q  WOTTON  RE  IN  FRED. 

him  they  did,  but  seduce  him  they  could  not. 
Polished  steel  may  be  breathed  on  without 
being  rusted,  but  not  long  or  often  without 
being  bedimmed.  Wotton  fought  hard  with 
evil ;  for  fiercely  were  the  depths  of  his  fiery 
nature  assailed ;  he  was  not  conquered,  yet 
neither  did  he  conquer,  without  loss,  and 
these  contests  added  new  uproar  to  the  dis- 
cord within. 

Of  his  progress  in  the  learned  languages 
he  himself  made  little  account ;  nor  in  meta- 
physics did  he  find  any  light,  but,  rather, 
doubt  or  darkness ;  if  he  talked  of  the  mat- 
ter it  was  in  words  of  art,  and  his  own  honest 
nature  whispered  to  him  the  while  that  they 
were  only  words.  Mathematics  and  the  kin- 
dred sciences,  at  once  occupying  and  satisfy- 
ing his  logical  faculty,  took  much  deeper  hold 
of  him  ;  nay,  by  degrees,  as  he  felt  his  own  in- 
dependent progress,  almost  alienated  him  for 
a  long  season  from  all  other  studies.  "  Is  not 
truth,"  said  he,  "  the  pearl  of  great  price,  and 
where  shall  we  find  it  but  here?  "  He  gloried 
to  track  the  footsteps  of  the  mighty  Newton, 


WOTTON  REINFRED.  3! 

and  in  the  thought  that  he  could  say  to  him- 
self :  Thou,  even  thou,  art  privileged  to  look 
from  his  high  eminence,  and  to  behold  with 
thy  own  eyes  the  order  of  that  stupendous 
fabric ;  thou  seest  it  in  light  and  mystic  har- 
mony, which,  though  all  living  men  denied, 
thou  wouldst  not  even  doubt!  A  proud 
thought,  truly,  for  little  man ;  but  a  sad  one 
if  he  pursue  it  unwisely ! 

The  Principia  do  but  enlighten  one  small 
forecourt  of  the  mind ;  and  for  the  inner 
shrine,  if  we  seek  not  purer  light  and  by  purer 
means,  it  will  remain  for  ever  dark  and  deso- 
late. So  Wotton  found  to  his  cost ;  for  with 
this  cold  knowledge,  much  as  he  boasted  of  it, 
he  felt  in  secret  that  his  spiritual  nature  was 
not  fed.  In  time,  like  other  men,  he  came  to 
need  a  theory  of  man ;  a  system  of  metaphys- 
ics, not  for  talk,  but  for  adoption  and  belief ; 
and  here  his  mathematical  logic  afforded  little 
help,  as,  indeed,  without  other  rarer  concomi- 
tants, it  is  in  such  pursuits  a  hindrance  rather 
than  a  help.  Great  questions,  the  very  great- 
est, came  before  his  mind  ;  with  shuddering 


32  WOT  TON  REIN  FRED. 

awe  he  drew  aside  the  veil  from  all  sacred 
things ;  but  here,  in  what  he  called  the  light 
of  his  reason,  which  was  only  a  fitful  glimmer, 
there  was  no  clear  vision  for  him.  Doubt 
only,  pale  doubt,  rising  like  a  spectral  shadow, 
was  to  be  seen,  distorting  or  obscuring  the 
good  and  holy ;  nay,  sometimes  hiding  the 
very  Holy  of  Holies  from  his  eye. 

Who  knows  not  the  agonies  of  doubt? 
What  heart,  not  of  stone,  can  endure  to  abide 
with  them  ?  Wotton's  was  a  heart  of  flesh, 
and  of  the  softest ;  it  was  torn  and  bleeding, 
yet  he  could  not  pause  ;  for  a  voice  from  the 
depths  of  his  nature  called  to  him,  as  he  loved 
truth,  to  persevere.  He  studied  the  sceptical 
writers  of  his  own  country  ;  above  all,  the 
modern  literature  of  France.  Here  at  length 
a  light  rose  upon  him,  not  the  pure  sunlight  of 
former  days,  but  a  red  fierce  glare,  as  by  de- 
grees his  doubt  settled  in  utter  negation.  He 
felt  a  mad  pleasure  mingled  with  his  pangs, 
and  unbelief  was  laying  waste  in  scornful  tri- 
umph so  many  fairest  things,  still  dear  and  ven- 
erable even  as  delusions.  Alas  !  the  joy  of  the 


WOTTON  REIN  FRED.  33 

Denyer  is  not  of  long  continuance.  He  burns 
the  city,  and  warms  himself  at  the  blaze  for  a 
day;  but  on  the  morrow  the  fair  palaces  as 
well  as  the  noisome  alleys  are  gone,  and  he 
stands  houseless  amid  ashes  and  void  silence. 
Thus  also  it  fared  with  Reinfred. 

The  philosophy  of  Epicurus  was  not  made 
for  him ;  his  understanding  was  convinced, 
but  his  heart  in  secret  denied  it.  Vice  and 
all  baseness,  which  at  first  it  might  have 
seemed  to  sanction,  he  still  rejected,  nay,  ab- 
horred. But  what,  then,  was  virtue  ?  Another 
name  for  happiness,  for  pleasure  ?  No  longer 
the  eternal  life  and  beauty  of  the  universe,  the 
invisible  all-pervading  effluence  of  God  ;  but  a 
poor  earthly  theorem,  a  balance  of  profit  and 
loss  resting  on  self-interest,  and  pretending  to 
rest  on  nothing  higher. 

Nay,  was  the  virtuous  always  happiest? 
To  Wotton  it  seemed  more  than  dubious  ;  for 
himself,  at  least,  he  felt  as  if  truth  were  too 
painful,  and  animal  stupidity  the  surest  fount- 
ain of  contentment.  By  degrees  a  dreary  stag- 
nancy overspread  his  soul :  he  was  without  fear 


34  WOTTON  RE  IN  FRED. 

and  without  hope  ;  in  this  world  isolated,  poor, 
and  helpless ;  had  tasted  little  satisfaction,  and 
expected  little,  and  in  the  next  he  had  now  no 
part  or  lot.  Among  his  fellow-men  he  felt 
like  a  stranger  and  a  pilgrim,  a  pilgrim  jour- 
neying without  rest  to  a  distant  nowhere. 
Pride  alone  supported  him,  a  deep-hid  satanic 
pride ;  and  it  was  a  harsh  and  stern  support. 
Gloomy  mockery  was  in  his  once  kind  and 
gentle  heart;  mockery  of  the  world,  of  him- 
self, of  all  things;  yet  bitterest  sadness  lay 
within  it,  and  through  his  scowl  there  often 
glistened  a  tear. 

In  such  inward  disquietudes  it  would  have 
been  a  blessing  to  communicate  in  trustful 
kindness  with  other  men.  However,  he  kept 
his  secret  locked  up  in  himself,  judging  that  if 
spoken  it  would  meet  with  little  sympathy, 
perhaps  even  be  but  imperfectly  understood. 
By  light  companions  he  was  now  and  then 
bantered  on  his  melancholic  mood  ;  but  these 
he  dispatched  with  tart  enough  replies,  and 
himself  only  withdrew  with  his  alleged  imagi- 
nary woes  still  farther  from  their  circle.  To 


WOT  TON  REINFRED.  35 

his  mother  least  of  all  could  he  impart 
these  cares.  In  his  occasional  visits,  the  good 
woman  had  not  failed  to  notice  some  unfa- 
vourable change  in  his  temper ;  but  as  his 
conduct  still  seemed  strictly  regular,  she  had 
taken  little  heed  of  this,  and  imputed  it  to 
more  transitory  causes.  Besides,  she  was  be- 
coming more  and  more  immersed  in  her  reli- 
gious feelings,  more  divided  from  the  world's 
cares ;  and  when  she  counselled  her  son,  it 
was  her  sole  earnest  injunction  that  he  would 
study  to  be  right  with  God,  and  prepared  for 
the  change,  which  for  him  as  for  her  and 
every  one  would  be  irrevocable,  and  lay  near 
at  hand.  Occasionally  she  may  have  sus- 
pected that  all  was  not  right;  but,  if  so,  to 
rectify  it  was  beyond  her  sphere ;  and  she 
trusted  that  the  same  good  providence,  which 
had  led  herself  through  so  many  thorny  and 
steep  paths,  would  also  be  the  guide  and 
protector  of  all  that  was  hers.  At  last,  some 
two  years  ago,  her  health  declining,  she  had 
moved,  by  the  advice  of  her  physician,  into  a 
kinder  climate ;  and  was  now  living  far  south 


36  WOTTON  RE  IN  FRED. 

in  her  native  county,  in  the  family  of  a  wid- 
owed sister,  where  Wotton  had  never  yet  seen 
her.  The  visit  had  been  unexpectedly  pro- 
tracted from  month  to  month,  and  seemed  at 
last  as  if  it  would  not  end.  Her  letters  to  him 
were  frequent,  earnest,  and  overflowing  with 
sublime  affection ;  often  they  brought  tears 
into  his  eyes ;  but  he  could  only  in  return 
give  her  false  assurances  of  his  welfare,  and  in 
sighs  thank  Heaven  that  she  knew  not  what 
had  befallen  him. 

Without  associate,  however,  he  was  not  al- 
ways to  be.  In  one  of  his  summer  rustica- 
tions, since  his  mother  left  him,  he  had  be- 
come acquainted  with  Bernard  Swane,  or,  rath- 
er, Bernard  Swane  had  become  acquainted 
with  him ;  for  hearing  much  of  the  wonder- 
ful talents,  the  moodiness,  and  bitter  wayward 
humours  of  his  neighbour,  and  being  himself 
a  man  of  influence,  warm-heartedness,  and 
singular  enthusiasm,  he  had  forced  his  way 
into  the  privacy  of  this  youthful  misanthrope ; 
had  accosted  him  with  such  frank  kindliness, 
and  on  subsequent  occasions  so  soothed  and 


WOTTON  REINFRED.  37 

cherished  him  in  sympathising  affection,  that 
by  degrees  he  had  won  his  friendship,  and 
Wotton  had  now  no  secret,  economical  or 
spiritual,  which  he  did  not  share  in.  To  both 
parties  their  intercourse  had  from  the  first 
been  peculiarly  attractive.  There  was  that 
contrast,  and  at  the  same  time  similarity,  in 
their  natures  which  gives  its  highest  charm  to 
social  converse.  Bernard  was  the  elder  by 
several  years,  a  man  of  talent,  education,  and 
restless  vigorous  activity ;  by  profession  be- 
longing to  the  law  ;  already  profitably  en- 
gaged in  the  public  business  of  his  county, 
and  cherishing  perhaps,  half  consciously,  hopes 
of  yet  rising  to  some  far  higher  department. 
For  he  was  a  man  of  a  large,  if  not  a  pecul- 
iarly fine  spirit ;  strong,  conscious  of  his 
strength  ;  for  ever  full  of  practicable  and  im- 
practicable schemes  ;  and  though  he  flattered 
himself  that  the  promotion  of  public  good  in 
any  sphere  was  his  best  or  only  aim,  to  all 
third  parties  it  was  clear  enough  that  Bernard 
had  a  deep  ambition.  Nay  in  his  frank  and 
sanguine  manner  there  often  appeared  the 


38  WOT  TON  REIN  FRED, 

most  indubitable  outbreakings  of  vanity ;  but 
at  the  same  time  of  vanity  so  kindly,  social, 
and  true-hearted,  that  you  were  forced  to  par- 
don it.  The  truth  is,  he  was  of  a  happy  na- 
ture ;  existence  of  itself  was  sweet  and  joyous 
to  him :  he  lived  for  ever  in  the  element  of 
hope ;  loving-  himself,  and  loving  through  him- 
self all  nature  and  all  men.  Rarely  could  you 
find  a  person  so  superior  to  others,  yet  so  be- 
loved by  them,  so  calculated  to  please  at  once 
the  many  and  the  few.  To  Wotton  in  specu- 
lation, as  in  conduct,  he  was  a  perfect  oppo- 
site. The  former  never  believed,  the  latter 
scarcely  ever  doubted;  hence  the  one  acted 
and  concluded,  wrong,  even  absurdly,  it  might 
be,  but  still  acted  and  concluded,  while  the 
other  painfully  hesitated  and  inquired.  Both 
truly  loved  goodness ;  of  the  two,  Wotton 
more  fervently,  yet  Bernard  with  more  trust- 
fulness and  effect.  In  active  courage,  the  lat- 
ter was  superior  ;  in  passive,  the  former;  who, 
indeed,  had  long  lived  with  pain,  and  for  the 
better  purpose  of  his  mind  had  always  fronted 
and  defied  it.  Not  so  with  Bernard :  he  had 


WOT  TON  REINFRED.  39 

in  secret  a  deep  horror  of  passive  suffering,  so 
deep  that  scarcely  even  conscience  could  drive 
him  to  brave  it ;  and  many  times,  as  it  seemed 
to  Wotton,  he  would  practise  cunning  subter- 
fuges, and  underhand,  nay,  unconsciously, 
play  Jesuitic  tricks  with  his  own  convictions 
to  escape  such  dilemmas.  That  he  wished  a 
thing  to  be  true  was  ever  with  him  a  strong 
persuasion  of  its  truth.  He  sympathised  in 
Wotton's  scepticism  ;  often  he  seemed,  with  a 
deep  sigh,  to  admit  that  his  objections  were 
unanswerable,  yet  himself  continued  to  be- 
lieve. Wotton  loved  him,  for,  in  spite  of  draw- 
backs, he  felt  all  his  singular  worth  ;  and  Ber- 
nard was  the  only  human  soul  that  knew  him, 
in  whose  neighbourhood  his  own  exiled, 
marred,  and  exasperated  spirit  still  felt  any 
touch  of  peace,  still  saw  afar  off,  though  but 
for  a  few  moments,  some  glimpses  of  kind  sun- 
shiny life.  To  produce  such  effects,  to  attract 
such  a  spirit,  and  be  loved  by  it  was  no  less 
delightful  to  the  other,  for  if  he,  as  it  were, 
protected  Wotton,  he  also  admired,  nay,  al- 
most feared,  him  ;  and,  feeling  his  own  superi- 


4Q  WOT  TON  REIN  FRED. 

ority  in  strength  and  good  fortune,  he  often 
felt  that  in  nobleness  and  merit  the  balance 
might  sway  on  the  other  side. 

Thus  their  friendship  rested  on  the  surest 
basis,  that  of  mutual  satisfaction  and  sym- 
pathy ;  on  the  one  hand  and  on  the  other 
good  offices  or  good  wishes,  pleasure  given 
and  received.  In  their  intellectual  discus- 
sions, widely  as  they  differed,  they  by  no 
chance  quarrelled ;  indeed,  except  in  private 
they  almost  never  argued.  In  society,  where, 
except  in  the  company  and  by  the  persuasion 
of  his  friend,  Wotton  scarcely  ever  ventured, 
you  generally  found  them  on  a  side ;  Bernard 
supporting  the  good  and  beautiful  in  vehe- 
ment, flowing,  rhetorical  pleadings  ;  Wotton, 
in  bitter  sarcasms  and  with  keenest  intellect, 
demolishing  the  false  and  despicable,  and  this, 
often  in  the  dialect  of  his  hearers,  if  no  better 
might  be,  to  whom  he  justly  enough  appre- 
hended his  own  would  many  times  have  been 
a  stone  of  stumbling.  By  such  half  displays 
of  his  inward  nature,  poor  Wotton's  popu- 
larity was  seldom  increased.  Bernard  was 


WOTTON  REIN  FRED.  4! 

confessedly  a  man  of  parts,  by  whom  it  might 
seem  less  disgraceful  to  be  tutored ;  but  who 
was  this  Wotton,  this  sharp,  scornful  stripling, 
whom  no  one  meddled  with  unpunished  ?  By 
degrees,  indeed,  he  established  for  himself  a 
character  of  talent,  the  more  wondered  at  per- 
haps that  it  was  little  understood  ;  nay,  observ- 
ant people  could  not  but  admit  that  in  his 
rigorous,  secluded,  gloomy  spirit  there  dwelt 
the  strictest  justice,  and  even  much  positive 
virtue  ;  but  still,  these  things  were  conceded 
rather  than  asserted.  Nay,  Wotton  was  less 
than  ever  a  favourite,  and  the  first  ineffectual 
effort  to  despise  him  too  often  passed  into  a 
sentiment  of  fear,  uneasiness,  and  aversion. 

On  the  young  man  himself  the  conscious- 
ness of  this  was  not  without  corresponding 
and  hurtful  influence ;  but  one  good  effect 
among  many  bad  was  that  it  bound  him  still 
more  closely  to  his  friend.  Bernard  was  now 
almost  his  sole  society  ;  a  treasure  precious, 
therefore,  both  by  reason  of  its  rarity  and  its 
intrinsic  value.  Gladly  would  Bernard  have 
rewarded  him  for  such  exclusive  trust ;  gladly 


42  WOT  TON  REIN  FRED. 

have  extracted  by  reasonable  ministrations 
the  bitterness  from  his  spirit;  truly  had  he 
watched  over  him  in  many  a  sad  hour,  and 
much  did  he  long  and  hope  to  see  his  fine 
gifts  occupied  in  wholesome  activity. 

Hitherto,  however,  his  efforts  had  been 
fruitless,  or  only  of  transient  influence.  By 
his  counsel  Wotton  had  meditated  various 
professions ;  that  of  law  he  had  even  for  a 
time  attempted.  But  he  was  too  late ;  the 
young  enthusiasm  had  faded  from  his  heart ; 
there  was  no  longer  any  infinitude  in  his 
hopes.  The  technicalities  of  the  subject  dis- 
pirited and  disgusted  his  understanding;  its 
rewards  were  distant  and  dubious,  and  to  him 
of  small  value.  What  were  wealth  and  pro- 
fessional fame  when  the  world  itself  was  tar- 
nished in  his  thoughts,  and  all  its  uses  weary, 
flat,  stale,  and  unprofitable?  There  had  been 
a  time  when,  like  the  rest  of  us,  he  was  wont 
to  impute  his  misery  to  outward  circum- 
stances; to  think  that  if  this  or  that  were 
granted  to  his  wishes,  it  would  be  well  with 
him.  The  fallacy  which  lurked  here  experi- 


WOT  TON  RE  IN  FRED.  43 

ence  had  soon  taught  him,  but  not  the  truth. 
He  felt  that  he  was  wretched,  and  must  ever 
be  so ;  he  felt  as  if  all  men  would  be  so,  only 
that  their  eyes  were  blinded. 

He  abandoned  law  and  hurried  into  the 
country,  not  to  possess  his  soul  in  peace 
as  he  hoped,  but  in  truth,  like  Homer's  Bel- 
lerophon,  to  eat  his  own  heart.  His  love 
of  truth,  he  often  passionately  said,  had 
ruined  him ;  yet  he  would  not  relinquish 
the  search  to  whatever  abysses  it  might 
lead.  His  rural  cares  left  much  of  his  time 
unoccupied ;  in  mad  misdirection  he  read 
and  meditated,  enjoying  hours  of  wild  pleas- 
ure, divided  by  days  and  nights  of  pain.  It 
was  not  tedium  that  he  suffered,  he  had  too 
deep  an  interest  to  weary,  but  light  came  not 
to  him — no  light ;  he  wandered  in  endless 
labyrinths  of  doubt,  or  in  the  void  darkness 
of  denial.  With  other  men  his  conversation 
was  stinted  and  irksome,  for  he  had  to  shroud 
his  heart  from  them  in  deepest  mystery,  and 
to  him  their  doings  and  forbearings  were  of 
no  moment.  It  was  only  with  Bernard  that 


44  WOT  TON  RE  IN  FRED. 

he  could  speak  from  the  heart,  that  he  still 
felt  himself  a  man ;  scanty  but  invaluable 
solace,  which,  it  may  be,  saved  him  from 
madness  or  utter  despair. 

Such  was  his  mood  when  a  little  incident 
quite  transformed  the  scene.  One  fine  sum- 
mer evening  he  had  ridden  over  to  Bernard's, 
as  he  was  often  wont;  but,  finding  him  en- 
gaged with  company,  was  about  to  retire 
without  seeing  him,  when  Bernard  himself 
hurried  out  and  constrained  him  to  enter. 
"  It  is  but  some  one  or  two  young  friends," 
said  he,  "  who  have  come  accidentally  to  see 
my  sister.  There  is  one  among  them  too," 
added  he  with  a  roguish  smile,  as  they  ap- 
proached the  drawing-room ;  but  Wotton  had 
no  time  to  answer  till  he  found  himself  in  the 
middle  of  the  circle  welcomed  by  the  mistress 
of  it,  and  introduced  by  name  to  a  bright 
young  creature,  the  heroine  of  the  evening, 
whom  in  his  bashfulness  he  scarcely  dared  to 
look  at,  for  the  presence  filled  him  with  painful 
yet  sweetest  embarrassment  Jane  Montagu 
was  a  name  well  known  to  him  ;  far  and  wide 


WOT  TON  REIN  FRED, 


45 


its  fair  owner  was  celebrated  for  her  graces 
and  gifts  ;  herself  also  he  had  seen  and  noted  ; 
her  slim  daintiest  form,  her  soft  sylph-like 
movement,  her  black  tresses  shading  a  face 
so  gentle  yet  so  ardent ;  but  all  this  he  had 
noted  only  as  a  beautiful  vision  which  he 
himself  had  scarcely  right  to  look  at,  for 
her  sphere  was  far  from  his ;  as  yet  he  had 
never  heard  her  voice  or  hoped  that  he 
should  ever  speak  with  her.  Yet  surely  she 
was  not  indifferent  to  him,  else  whence  his 
commotion,  his  astonishment,  his  agitation 
now  when  near  her?  His  spirit  was  roused 
from  its  deepest  recesses,  a  thousand  dim  im- 
ages and  vague  feelings  of  gladness  and  pain 
were  clashing  in  tumultuous  vortices  within 
him ;  he  felt  as  if  he  stood  on  the  eve  of  some 
momentous  incident — as  if  this  hour  were  to 
decide  the  welfare  or  woe  of  long  future 
years. 

Strange  enough !  There  are  moments  of 
trial,  of  peril,  of  extreme  anxiety,  when  a  man 
whom  we  reckoned  timid  becomes  the  calmest 

and  firmest.     Reinfred's  whole  being  was  in  a 
4 


46  WOT  TON  REIN  FRED. 

hurricane ;  but  it  seemed  as  if  himself  were 
above  it,  ruling-  over  it,  in  unwonted  strength 
and  clearness.  His  first  movement  prospered, 
and  he  went  on  to  prosper.  Never  had  his 
manner  been  so  graceful  or  free ;  never  had 
his  sentiments  been  nobler,  his  opinions  more 
distinct,  emphatic,  or  correct.  A  vain  sophis- 
tical young  man  was  afflicting  the  party  with 
much  slender  and,  indeed,  base  speculation  on 
the  human  mind ;  this  he  resumed  after  the 
pause  and  bustle  of  the  new  arrival.  Wotton, 
by  one  or  two  Socratic  questions  in  his  hap- 
piest style,  contrived  to  silence  him  for  the 
night.  The  discomfiture  of  this  logical  ma- 
rauder was  felt  and  even  hailed  as  a  benefit  by 
every  one ;  but  sweeter  than  all  applauses  was 
the  glad  smile,  threatening  every  moment  to 
become  a  laugh,  and  the  kind,  thankful  look 
with  which  Jane  Montagu  repaid  the  victor. 
He  ventured  to  speak  to  her;  she  answered 
him  with  attention,  nay,  it  seemed  as  if  there 
were  a  tremor  in  her  voice ;  and  perhaps  she 
thanked  the  dusk  that  it  half  hid  her.  The 
conversation  took  a  higher  tone,  one  fine 


.WOTTON  RE1NFRED.  47 

-thought  called  forth  another;  each,  the  speak- 
ers and  the  hearers  alike,  felt  happy  and  well 
at  ease.  To  Wotton  the  hours  seemed  mo- 
ments ;  he  had  never  been  as  now ;  the  words 
from  those  sweetest  lips  came  over  him  like 
dew  on  thirsty  grass ;  his  whole  soul  was  as  if 
-lapped  in  richest  melodies,  and  all  better  feel- 
ings within  him  seemed  to  whisper,  "  It  is 
.good  for  us  to  be  here."  At  parting  the  fair 
one's  hand  was  in  his ;  in  the  balmy  twilight 
with  the  kind  stars  above  them  he  spoke  some- 
.  thing  of  meeting  again  which  was  not  contra- 
dicted ;  he  pressed  gently  those  small  soft  fin- 
gers, and  it  seemed  as  if  they  were  not  hastily 
or  angrily  withdrawn. 

Wotton  had   never   known  love:  brought 
:up  in  seclusion  from  the  sex,  immersed  in  soli- 
dary speculation,  he  had  seen  the  loveliest  half 
of  our  species  only  from  afar,  and  learned  in 
his  poeticalstudies  to  view  them  with  an  al- 
most venerating  reverence.     Elysian  dreams, 
a  fairyland  of   richest  blessedness  his   young 
Jancy  had  indeed  shaped  for  him ;  but  it  lay 
far  apart  from  the  firm  earth,  with  impassable 


48  WOTTON  RE  IN  FRED. 

abysses  intervening ;  and  doubting  and  disbe- 
lieving all  things,  the  poor  youth  had  never 
learned  to  believe  in  himself.  That  he,  the 
obscure,  forlorn,  and  worthless,  could  ever 
taste  the  heaven  of  being  loved ;  that  for  him 
any  fair  soul  should  ever  languish  in  fond 
longing,  seemed  a  thing  impossible.  Other 
men  were  loved ;  but  he  was  not  as  other 
men  ;  did  not  a  curse  hang  over  him  ?  had  not 
his  life  been  a  cup  of  bitterness  from  the  be- 
ginning? Thus  in  timid  pride  he  withdrew 
within  his  own  fastnesses,  where,  baited  by  a 
thousand  dark  spectres,  he  saw  himself  as  if 
constrained  to  renounce  in  unspeakable  sad- 
ness the  fairest  hopes  of  existence.  And  now 
how  sweet,  how  ravishing  the  contradiction ! 
"  She  has  looked  on  thee  ! "  cried  he ;  "  she,  the 
fairest,  noblest ;  she  does  not  despise  thee ; 
her  dark  eyes  smiled  on  thee ;  her  hand  was 
in  thine ;  some  figure  of  thee  was  in  her  soul !  " 
Storms  of  transport  rushed  through  his  heart 
as  he  recalled  the  scene,  and  sweetest  intima-  . 
tions  that  he  also  was  a  man,  that  for  him  also 
unutterable  joys  had  been  provided. 


WOT  TON  REIN  FRED,  49 

Day  after  day  he  saw  and  heard  his  fair 
Jane ;  day  after  day  drank  rapture  from  her 
words  and  looks.  She  sang-  to  him,  she  played 
to  him ;  they  talked  together,  in  gaiety  and 
earnestness,  unfolding  their  several  views  of 
human  life,  and  ever  as  it  seemed  glancing 
afar  off  at  a  holy  though  forbidden  theme. 
Never  had  Wotton  such  an  audience ;  never 
was  fine  thought  or  noble  sentiment  so  re- 
warded as  by  the  glance  of  those  dark  eyes, 
by  the  gleam  which  kindled  over  that  soft  and 
spirit-speaking  face.  In  her,  hour  after  hour,  a 
fairer  and  fairer  soul  unveiled  itself ;  a  soul  of 
quickest  vision  and  gracefullest  expression,  so 
gay  yet  so  enthusiastic,  so  blandishing  yet  so 
severe  ;  a  being  all  gentleness  and  fire ;  meek, 
timid,  loving  as  the  dove  and  high  and  noble 
as  the  eagle.  To  him  her  presence  brought 
with  it  airs  from  heaven.  A  balmy  rest  en- 
circled his  spirit  while  near  her;  pale  doubt 
fled  away  to  the  distance,  and  life  bloomed  up 
with  happiness  and  hope.  The  young  man 
seemed  to  awake  as  from  a  haggard  dream ; 
he  had  been  in  the  garden  of  Eden,  then,  and 


go  WOT  TON  REINFRED^ 

his  eyes  could  not  discern  it!  But  now  the 
black  walls  of  his  prison  melted  away,  and  the 
captive  was  alive  and  free  in  the  sunny  spring  ! 
If  he  loved  this  benignant  disenchantress  ? 
His  whole  heart  and  soul  and  life  were  hers ; 
yet  he  had  never  thought  of  love ;  for  his 
whole  existence  was  but .  a  feeling  which  he 
had  not  yet  shaped  into  a  thought. 

But  human  life  were  another  matter  than 
it  is  could  it  grant  such  things  continuance. 
Jane  Montagu  had  an  ancient  maiden  aunt 
who  was  her  hostess  and  protectress,  to  whom 
she  owed  all  and  looked  for  all.  With  the 
eyes  of  fifty,  one  sees  not  as  with  the  eyes 
of  fifteen.  What  passed  between  the  good 
maiden  and  her  aunt  we  know  not;  the  old 
lady  was  proud  and  poor ;  she  had  high  hopes 
from  her  niece,  and  in  her  meagre,  hunger- 
bitten  philosophy,  Wotton's  visits  had  from 
the  first  been  but  faintly  approved  of. 

One  morning  he  found  his  fair  Jane  con- 
strained and  sad  ;  she  was  silent,  absent ;  she 
seemed  to  have  been  weeping.  The  aunt  left 
the  room.  He  pressed  for  explanation,  first  in 


WOTTON  REINFRED.  5! 

kind  solicitude,  then  with  increasing  appre- 
hension ;  but  none  was  to  be  had,  save  only 
broken  hints  that  she  was  grieved  for  herself, 
for  him,  that  she  had  much  to  suffer,  that  he 
must  cease  to  visit  her.  It  was  vain  that  the 
thunderstruck  Wotton  demanded,  "  Why  ? 
Why  ?  "  "  One  whom  she  entirely  depended 
on  had  so  ordered  it,  and  for  herself  she  had 
nothing  to  do  but  to  obey."  She  resisted  all 
entreaty ;  she  denied  all  explanation :  her 
words  were  firm  and  cold  ;  only  by  a  thrill  of 
anguish  that  once  or  twice  quivered  over  her 
face  could  a  calmer  man  have  divined  that 
she  was  suffering  within.  Wotton's  pride  was 
stung  ;  he  rose  and  held  out  his  hand  :  "  Fare- 
well, then,  madam  ! "  said  he,  in  a  low  steady 
voice;  "I  will  not — "  She  put  her  hand  in 
his;  she  looked  in  his  face,  tears  started  to 
her  eyes ;  but  she  turned  away  her  head,  hasti- 
ly pressed  his  hand,  and  sobbing,  whispered, 
scarcely  audibly,  "  Farewell !  "  He  approached 
in  frenzy  ;  his  arms  were  half-raised  to  encir- 
cle her  ;  but  starting  back  she  turned  on  him 
a  weeping  face — a  face  of  anger,  love,  and 


52  WOT  TON  RE  IN  FRED, 

agony.  She  sternly  motioned  to  him  to  with- 
draw, and  Wotton  scarce  knew  where  he  was 
till  with  mad  galloping  he  had  reached  his 
own  solitudes,  and  the  town,  and  the  fair 
Jane,  and  all  his  blessed  dreams  were  far 
away. 

This  look  of  hers  he  had  long  time  to  medi- 
tate, for  it  was  the  last.  How  many  burning 
thoughts  he  had  to  front ;  how  many  wild 
theories  he  formed  of  his  misfortunes ;  how 
many  wild  projects  to  repair  it!  But  all  in 
vain  :  his  letters  were  unanswered,  or  an- 
swered in  cold,  brief  commonplaces.  At  last 
he  received  a  pressing  entreaty,  or  rather,  a 
peremptory  injunction,  to  write  no  more. 
Then  hope  no  longer  lingered  ;  thickest  night 
sank  over  his  spirit,  and  a  thousand  furies 
were  sent  forth  to  scourge  him.  They  were 
cruel  days  that  followed.  By-and-bye  came 
reports  that  his  Jane  was  to  be  wedded — wed- 
ded to  Edmund  Walter,  a  gay  young  man  of 
rank,  a  soldier,  and,  as  Wotton  rated  him,  a 
debauchee,  but  wealthy,  well-allied,  and  in- 
fluential in  the  county.  The  wedding-day,  it 


WOT  TON  RE  IN  FRED.  53 

was  even  stated,  had  been  fixed.  "  What  have 
I  to  do  with  it?"  said  Wotton,  as  he  shud- 
dered at  the  thought ;  "  she  is  nought  to  me, 
I  am  nought  to  her." 

But  some  secret  change  had  occurred,  and 
the  public  expectation  was  baulked.  The 
marriage  did  not  take  place,  no  one  knew 
why ;  only  Walter  had  left  the  neighbourhood 
in  indignant  haste  ;  the  aunt,  also,  and  her 
niece,  the  latter  apparently  in  deepest  sorrow, 
had  closed  their  house  and  retired  to  their 
friends  in  London.  The  talk  of  gossips  was 
loud  and  manifold,  but  no  light  could  be  elicit- 
ed ;  a  curtain  of  mystery  still  enveloped  the 
transaction,  and  one  spiteful  hypothesis  only 
gave  place  to  another  as  spiteful  and  no  bet- 
ter founded. 

What  effect  all  this  produced  on  the  soli- 
tary Wotton  we  need  not  describe  at  length. 
His  heart  bled  inwardly ;  in  solitude  he  suf- 
fered, for  his  pride  and  his  affection  had 
alike  been  cruelly  wounded  ;  it  was  long 
before  even  Bernard  could  penetrate  into  his 
confidence,  and  soothe  his  darkened  and  ex- 


54  WOTTON  REIN  FRED. 

asperated  spirit  by  a  touch  of   human   sym- 
pathy. 

Six  months  were  now  gone  ;  the  whole  in- 
cident had  removed  into  distance,  and  Wotton 
could  now  see  clearly  how  it  had  been  and 
how  it  was  to  be  with  him.  He  felt  that  he 
had,  loved  not  wisely,  yet  irrevocably,  and  in 
vain.  A  celestial  vision  had  entranced  him, 
and  now  it  was  all  fled  away,  and  the  grim 
world  lay  round  him,  sicklied  over  by  inef- 
fectual longing.  One  little  month  so  fair  and 
heavenly  ;  such  a  blissful  meeting,  such  a 
stern  good-night !  He  felt  with  tenfold  force 
that  all  hope  was  lies,  that  man's  life  was  but 
a  mockery  and  a  fever-dream.  By  degrees 
he  sank  into  iron  quietude.  "  What  is  the 
world,"  said  he,  "  but  a  gloomy  vision  as  the 
poets  have  called  it,  and  your  fair  landscapes, 
so  sunshiny,  so  green,  so  far-stretching,  are 
but  cunning  paintings  on  the  walls.  We  are 
captives,  but  it  is  only  for  a  season.  Death 
is  still  our  birthright;  destiny  itself  cannot 
doom  us  not  to  die.  Strong  death,  the  frown- 
ing but  helpful  and  never-failing  friend  !  Cow- 


WOT  TON  REINFRED.  55 

ards  have  painted  him  as  a  spectre  ;  he  is  a 
benignant  genius  bearing  freedom  and  rest  to 
weary,  heavy-laden  man !  " 

To  all  this  Bernard  listened  with  regret, 
yet  also  with  sympathy  and  firm  hopes  of  bet- 
ter things.  This  dreary  stagnancy  he  knew 
would  not  be  final ;  Wotton's  nature  was  vir- 
tuous, it  would  at  length  become  believing, 
become  active,  become  happy.  For  malig- 
nant activity  it  was  too  noble  and  moral, 
for  such  icy  rest  too  passionate.  Nay,  even 
as  it  stood,  was  not  a  burst  of  fierce  ten- 
derness, or  far-glancing  despair  every  now 
and  then  breaking  forth  as  if  in  spite  of 
him? 

Bernard  had  half-foreseen  his  passion  for 
Jane  Montagu,  and  hoped  that  it  might  lead 
him  back  to  life,  and  in  the  end  make  two 
worthy  and  beloved  beings  happy.  Painfully 
as  the  issue  had  deceived  him,  he  did  not 
slacken  his  efforts  or  abate  his  confidence. 
This  journey  he  had  diligently  contrived  and 
recommended,  in  the  course  of  which  many 
things,  as  he  hoped,  might  occur  to  solace,  to 


56  WOT  TON  RE  IN  FRED. 

excite  and  instruct  the  marred  and  afflicted 
spirit  of  the  young  man,  and  so  in  the  end 
to  recall  him  from  those  regions  of  baleful 
shadows  into  the  light  of  truth  and  living 
day. 


CHAPTER  III. 

WELL  mounted,  wrapped  and  equipped 
for  travelling,  our  friends  were  on  horseback 
at  an  early  hour.  The  sunbeam  was  still  dewy 
and  level  as  they  reached  by  a  slanting  path 
the  brow  of  the  hill-range  which  bounded 
in  the  valley  to  the  left,  and  Wotton  looked 
back  for  a  moment  on  the  blue  streak  of 
smoke  which  was  rising  from  his  own  chim- 
ney far  down  in  the  bottom,  where  all  that  he 
possessed  or  delighted  to  remember  on  earth 
lay  clustered  together  in  peaceful  brightness. 
The  sound  of  a  distant  steeple-clock  came 
faint  and  saddened  through  the  sunny  morn- 
ing. "  How  trim  the  burgh  stands  among  its 
woods  and  meadows !  "  cried  Bernard,  looking 
far  across  the  dale  ;  "  how  gay  its  red  steeples 
rise  through  the  fleece  of  blue,  where  many  a 
thrifty  mother  is  cooking  breakfast  for  her 


5  8  WOT  TON  REIN  FRED, 

loved  ones  !  The  place  is  alive  and  astir  and 
full  of  busy  mortals  though  you  think  here 
you  might  cover  it  all  with  your  hat.  It  is 
speaking  to  us,  too,  with  its  metal  tongue  !  " 

Wotton  moved  on,  for  to  him  it  was  speak- 
ing not  in  pleasure  but  in  pain.  It  was  the 
sound  which  had  announced  to  him  in  ?chool- 
boy  years  the  scene  of  his  daily  martyrdom  ;  it 
was  the  sound  he  had  often  heard  beside  Jane 
Montagu;  the  note  of  that  bell  was  getting 
doleful  and  of  evil  presage  to  him. 

"  I  know  not  how  it  comes,"  said  he,  "  but 
to  my  imagination  this  journey  of  ours,  simple 
as  it  is,  seems  strangely  momentous.  It  is  as 
if  we  were  leaving  our  hampered  but  safe  and 
hospitable  ark  to  venture  forth  on  a  world  of 
waters." 

"  A  sign  that  hope  is  not  dead  in  you," 
said  Bernard,  "  since  you  can  still  fear.  We 
shall  return  with  olive  leaves,  I  prophesy.'' 

"  Or  at  least  fly  to  and  fro  upon  the  waters," 
answered  Wotton.  "  Well,  that  is  better  than 
pining  in  the  prison.  We  shall  be  among  the 
mountains  to-morrow,"  added  he  cheerily. 


WOT  TON  REIN  FRED.  59 

"  Those  granite  peaks  are  shining  on  us  as  if 
they  were  made  of  sapphire,  and  near  at  hand 
they  are  but  like  other  rocks.  So  man  was 
made  to  be  deceived." 

Wotton  as  a  travelling  companion,  at  least 
to  Bernard,  was  peculiarly  delightful.  The 
excitement  of  a  fine  exercise,  in  which  he 
took  pleasure  and  excelled,  seemed  to  shake 
the  vapours  from  his  spirit  and  awaken  in 
it  all  beautiful  and  healthful  feelings.  In  the 
glow  of  motion,  under  the  thousandfold  be- 
nign influences  of  rural  nature,  he  could  many 
times  for  a  while  attain  to  self-forgetfulness, 
and  pour  forth  in  free  and  even  glad  effusion 
the  sensations  of  the  hour.  His  moody  cares 
retired  to  the  distance  and  formed  as  it  were 
a  ground  of  deepest  black,  on  which  the 
bright,  lovely,  nay,  sometimes  sportful  imagery 
of  his  mind  looked  out  with  double  grace. 
With  Bernard  his  conversation  was  at  all 
times,  and  especially  on  such  occasions,  of  the 
most  pleasurable  sort.  There  was  in  them 
that  agreement  of  feeling  and  disagreement  of 
opinion,  that  similarity  in  dissimilarity,  which 


60  WOT  TON  REIN  FRED. 

is  justly  thought  to  form  the  great  charm  of 
conversation.  Much  as  they  disputed  they 
never  quarrelled. 

The  scene  and  the  lovely  weather  were  of 
a  kind  to  maintain  the  most  genial  humour.  It 
was  a  region  as  yet  unvisited  of  mail-coaches, 
traversed  only  by  the  solitary  horseman,  or 
some  wayworn  cadger  toilsomely  collecting  for 
city  consumpt  the  minor  produce  of  the  dis- 
trict ;  a  region  of  knoll  and  hollow,  of  modest 
streamlet,  and  lone-lying  tree-shaded  farm ; 
the  mower  was  stooping  in  the  valleys,  where 
as  yet  the  fields  were  all  of  the  greenest ;  and 
ever,  as  they  mounted  any  height,  our  friends 
saw  before  them  afar  off  the  long  narrow  Frith 
winding  like  silver  among  its  craggy  head- 
lands or  grey  sands ;  beyond  which,  over 
many  an  intervening  range,  towered  up  in 
white  light  in  the  extreme  distance  the  world 
of  mountains,  with  its  blue  tops  and  shadowy 
chasms  shutting  in  like  a  land  of  romance  a 
land  of  so  many  fair  realities. 

Pleasantly  journeying,  amid  abundant  talk, 
they  had  reached  before  sunset  the  strand  of 


WOT  TON  REINFRED.  6 1 

the  Frith  ;  where  advancing  to  the  end  of  one 
among  several  long-  rude  piers  of  wattle-work 
fronted  on  the  other  side  by  several  corre- 
sponding piers  which  extended  through  sand 
and  silt  and  enabled  the  ferrymen  to  ply  their 
trade  at  all  seasons  of  the  tide,  their  signal 
was  soon  answered,  and  two  gnarled  weather- 
beaten  rowers,  with  a  helmsman  and  a  huge 
shapeless  boat  had  in  a  few  minutes  landed 
man  and  horse  on  the  farther  shore.  Front- 
ing and  close  by  stood  a  rather  gay-looking 
mansion,  which  it  seemed  was  an  inn  and 
bathing  establishment,  and  where  our  friends 
proposed  continuing  for  the  night.  During 
their  short  voyage  Wotton  had  remarked  that 
the  helmsman  eyed  him  somewhat  too  curious- 
ly ;  he  was  still  farther  struck,  indeed  offended, 
when  the  same  personage,  who  appeared  like- 
wise to  be  an  under- waiter,  continued  to 
glance  at  him,  nay,  seemed  also  to  have 
awakened  the  curiosity  of  his  official  supe- 
rior ;  for  ever  and  anon  as  the  two  were 
covering  with  much  bustle  a  frugal  enough 
table,  they  kept  privily  casting  looks  on  our 


62  WOTTON  REINFRED. 

hero,  who  at  length  determined  to  end  their 
survey. 

"  My  friends."  said  he,"  is  there  anything 
especially  remarkable  in  my  appearance  that 
you  so  gaze  at  me?  Have  I  ever  had  the 
honour  of  your  acquaintance  for  good  or  bad  ; 
or  are  you  apprehensive  I  may  do  your  estab- 
lishment here  an  ill  turn  ?  " 

"  Thousand  pardons ! "  said  they  of  the 
apron,  ducking  very  low.  "  It  is  nothing,  sir," 
added  the  head  waiter,  "but  you  are  so  very 
like  a  picture  we  have  here.  You  will  excuse 
our  freedom,  sir ! " 

"  Picture  ?  "  said  Wotton. 

"  A  gold  locket  with  a  miniature  :  an  hon- 
est countryman  found  it  among  the  mount- 
ains ;  thought  some  of  our  guests  in  their 
pleasure  excursions  might  have  lost  it,  so  he 
brought  it  hither,  but  no  one  claimed  it ;  and 
the  thing  is  still  here  waiting  for  an  owner. 
You  shall  see  it,  sir." 

The  man  left  the  apartment,  and  soon  re- 
turned with  the  trinket  in  question.  It  was  a 
pretty  enough  piece  of  work ;  a  little  oval 


WOTTON  REIN  FRED.  63 

casket  of  chased  gold  or  filigrane,  on  a  pink 
ribbon,  which  seemed  once  to  have  suspended 
it  over  some  fair  bosom.  It  might  have  been 
dropped  in  riding.  But  what  most  surprised 
our  friends  was,  on  opening  the  lid,  for  the 
lock  had  been  broken,  to  discover  in  the  tiny 
picture  what  really  seemed  a  decided  resem- 
blance to  Wotton.  As  a  painting  it  was  of 
little  value  ;  neither  the  individual  tints  nor 
the  general  finish,  though  apparently  great 
pains  had  been  taken  with  it,  betrayed  the 
hand  of  an  artist,  yet  the  cast  of  our  hero's 
features  did  appear  to  have  been  aimed  at, 
nay,  in  some  points  accurately  seized ;  the 
dark  gray  eyes  under  their  deep  decided 
brows  and  high  arched  forehead,  the  well-pro- 
portioned nose,  the  somewhat  too  shallow 
chin,  the  clustery  dark  auburn  hair  were  all 
more  or  less  correctly  Wotton's;  and  about 
the  lips  there  played  a  mingled  half-painful, 
half-lofty  expression  of  scorn,  which  in  some 
passionate  moments  was  still  more  peculiarly 
his. 

Our  travellers,  it  may  well  be  supposed, 


64  WOTTON  REIN  FRED. 

scarce  knew  what  to  make  of  this  adventure. 
They  examined  and  re-examined  the  locket, 
they  questioned  and  re-questioned  the  waiter, 
and  all  to  little  purpose.  Except  that  it  had 
been  found  about  six  weeks  ago,  on  a  mount- 
ain road  at  some  fifteen  miles  distance,  he 
could  tell  them  nothing.  Wotton,  in  particu- 
lar, with  the  vague  imagination,  which  at  such 
an  age  a  smaller  circumstance  will  excite, 
could  not  help  feeling  an  unusual  interest  in 
the  matter,  and  determined  if  possible  at  no 
rate  to  part  with  this  copy  of  himself,  which 
chance  had  so  strangely  sent  him. 

"  This  trinket  is  not  mine,"  said  he  to  the 
waiter,  "  yet  I  question  whether  you  are  like 
to  meet  with  any  one  who  has  a  better  right 
to  it.  I  will  leave  you  my  address,  and  money 
to  the  full  amount  for  the  finder ;  if  the  pict- 
ure be  ever  claimed,  you  will  know  where  it  is 
to  be  had ;  for  in  the  mean  time  you  must  let 
me  take  it  with  me." 

The  man  made  little  objection,  and  in  re 
turn  for  the  deposit  of  a  few  guineas  the  toy 
was  formally,  made  over.  For  the  rest  of  the 


WOT  TON  REINFRED.  65 

evening  it  formed  between  our  friends  the 
chief  topic  of  conversation  which  indeed  on 
Wotton's  part  was  kept  up  with  no  great 
spirit.  His  mind  was  hunting  over  all  its  do- 
mains for  some  trace  of  a  solution  to  the  mys- 
tery, or  building  on  this  slender  basis  all  man- 
ner of  castles  in  the  air.  He  could  not  recol- 
lect that  he  had  ever  sat  to  any  painter,  and 
who  was  this  that  had  so  daintily  limned  him 
in  his  absence?  One  sweetest  possibility  he 
dared  not  openly  surmise  to  Bernard,  scarcely 
even  to  himself ;  yet  a  light  dawned  upon  him 
as  in  the  dusky  remoteness,  and  the  figure 
of  Jane  Montagu  came  forth  in  new  beauty 
saddened  over  by  inexpressible  longing. 

At  an  early  hour  he  retired  to  his  apart- 
ment. His  window  fronted  the  sea,  over 
which  the  moon  was  peering  from  her  couch 
of  clouds  in  the  far  east,  while  the  tide  swell- 
ing forth  as  if  to  meet  her  into  every  creek 
was  murmuring  hoarse  and  slow  through  the 
mellow  night.  Soft  vapours  shrouded  the 
other  shore  ;  the  sea  was  shipless,  for  the 
fisher  barks  were  at  anchor  in  their  coves ; 


66  WOTTON  RE  IN  FRED. 

the  moonbeam  flickered  on  a  solitude  of  wa- 
ters. The  thought  of  life  and  its  mysteries 
and  vicissitudes  came  over  Wotton's  troublous 
but  solemn  mind.  He  saw  the  images  of 
Time  as  if  flitting  so  fair  and  transient  through 
the  night  of  Eternity ;  yet  kind  scenes  crowd- 
ed round  him,  and  the  earth  with  its  stinted 
joys  and  man  with  his  marred  destiny,  seemed 
but  the  lovelier  that  they  were  weak  and  with- 
out continuance.  The  picture  was  in  his  hand, 
was  already  suspended  round  his  neck.  "  Why 
dost  thou  remember  her"  said  he  to  himself, 
"when  she  is  for  ever  hid  from  thy  eyes? 
She  came  like  a  heavenly  messenger  preach- 
ing peace  to  my  spirit,  and  peace  was  not 
appointed  me.  O  Jane  Montagu  !  why  was 
the  tinsel  of  the  world  precious  to  thee,  and 
its  fine  gold  of  no  price  ?  Surely,  surely  thy 
heart  said  nay,  nay  at  that  cruel  hour;  we 
might  have  been  so  blessed,  so  rich,  so  passing 
rich ! — I  will  see  her,  at  least,"  cried  he,  ris- 
ing ;  "  something  whispers  that  she  thinks  of 
me,  that  she  loves  me  ;  and  without  her  will 
no  power  on  earth  or  under  it  shall  part  us." 


CHAPTER   IV. 

IT  was  in  a  pleasurable  mood,  and  with 
hopes  vaguely  excited,  that  our  friends  en- 
tered the  mountain  region.  Mountains  were 
not  new  to  either  of  them  ;  but  rarely  are 
mountains  seen  in  such  combined  majesty  and 
grace  as  here.  The  rocks  are  of  that  sort 
called  primitive  by  the  mineralogist,  which 
always  arrange  themselves  in  masses  of  a 
rugged  and  gigantic  character  ;  but  their  rug- 
ged ness  is  softened  by  a  singular  elegance  of 
form  ;  in  a  climate  favourable  to  vegetation, 
the  gray  shapeless  cliff  itself  covered  with 
lichens  rises  through  a  garment  of  foliage  or 
verdure,  and  white  bright  tufted  cottages  are 
clustered  round  the  base  of  the  everlasting 
granite.  In  fine  vicissitude  beauty  alternates 
with  grandeur :  you  ride  through  stony  hol- 
lows, along  strait  passes  traversed  by  torrents, 


68  WOTTON  RE  IN  FRED. 

and  overhung  by  high  walls  of  rock ;  now 
winding  amid  broken  shaggy  chasms,  and 
huge  fragments  ;  now  suddenly  emerging  into 
some  emerald  valley,  where  the  streamlet  col- 
lects into  a  lake,  and  man  has  found  a  fair 
dwelling,  and  it  seems  as  if  peace  had  estab- 
lished herself  in  the  stony  bosom  of  strength. 

All  this  is  not  without  effect  on  thinking 
minds  ;  in  Wotton  it  co-operated  with  much 
that  he  already  felt ;  for  the  incident  of  last 
night,  though  as  if  by  tacit  consent  it  was  not 
spoken  of,  still  lurked  in  his  thoughts,  predis- 
posing him  to  vague  wondrous  imaginations 
and  all  high  feeling.  Bernard  was  full  of 
eloquence  ;  praising  the  beauty  of  nature,  the 
benignity  of  Providence,  and  the  happiness 
of  men ;  Wotton  the  while  answered  him,  as 
a  stout  sceptic,  indeed,  but  as  a  sceptic  that 
grieved,  not  rejoiced  to  be  so,  and  thus  for 
both  parties  the  conversation  was  entertain- 
ing, for  with  both  such  topics,  and  so  treated, 
were  chief  favourites.  They  were  in  the  bot- 
tom of  a  rude  solitary  glen,  engaged  so  pleas- 
antly, when  the  tramp  of  a  horse  was  heard 


WOTTON  RE  IN  FRED.  69 

on  the  left,  and  presently  a  rider  was  observed 
issuing  by  a  steep  side  path  from  a  sort  of 
break  in  the  hills,  and  seemed  as  if  advancing 
like  themselves,  though  from  a  different  point, 
toward  the  head  of  the  valley. 

The  horseman,  in  fact,  soon  joined  them, 
and  his  courteous  salutation  being  as  court- 
eously returned,  the  common-place  introduc- 
tions to  talk  ere  long  gave  place  to  more  in- 
teresting topics,  and  a  pleasant  feeling  of  com- 
panionship diffused  itself  over  the  party.  The 
stranger  seemed  a  man  of  some  fifty  years ; 
of  a  staid,  determinate,  yet,  at  the  same  time, 
winning  manner  ;  at  once  polished,  intelligent, 
and  sociably  frank  :  to  look  at  him  and  listen 
to  him  you  felt  inclined  to  assign  the  man  a 
higher  rank  than  his  equipment  could  have 
challenged,  for  he  was  well  and  sufficiently 
rather  than  splendidly  mounted  and  dressed  ; 
and  it  was  only  in  his  clear  kind  eyes  and 
strong  yet  calm  and  gentle  look  that  you  read 
a  title  to  superior  deference.  Bernard  was 
celebrating  the  beauty  of  the  scenery ;  the 
stranger  spoke  of  it  as  one  familiar  with  the 


7Q  WOTTON  REIN  FRED. 

subject  and  the  district,  yet  briefly  and  with 
judgment  rather  than  enthusiasm. 

"  A  passing  traveller,"  said  Bernard,  "  might 
envy  your  mountaineers  their  constant  abode 
among  so  many  noble  influences,  did  not  one 
remember  the  effect  of  habit  how  it  deadens 
all  our  impressions  both  of  beauty  and  de- 
formity." 

"  What  is  grander  than  the  sun  ? "  added 
Wotton  ;  "  yet  we  all  see  it  daily,  and  few 
think  of  the  heavenly  lamp  save  as  a  ripener 
of  corn.  The  moon,  too,  and  the  stars  are 
measured  in  their  courses :  but  astronomy  is 
praised  or  tolerated  because  it  helps  us  in 
navigating  ships,  and  the  divine  horologe  is 
rated  as  a  supplement  or  substitute  for  Harri- 
son's timekeeper." 

The  stranger  glanced  slightly  at  his  ve- 
hement companion,  yet  without  expression  of 
displeasure,  then  answered  :  "  True  goodness 
of  all  sorts  must  have  its  life  and  root  within 
ourselves  ;  it  depends  on  external  appliances 
far  less  than  we  suppose.  The  great  point  is 
to  have  a  healthy  mind,  or,  if  I  may  say  so,  a 


WOTTON  REINFRED.  fi 

right  power  of  assimilation,  for  the  elements  of 
beauty  and  truth  lie  round  us  on  all  sides, 
even  in  the  meanest  objects,  if  we  could  but 
extract  them.  Claude  Lorraine,  the  painter 
of  so  many  heavenly  landscapes,  was  bred  a 
colour-grinder ;  the  noble-minded  Epictetus 
was  a  slave.  As  to  the  effect  of  natural  scen- 
ery," continued  he,  "  I  think  with  you  that  it  is 
trifling.  The  mountaineer  has  a  peculiar  way 
of  life,  and  differs  from  the  inhabitant  of  the 
plains  because  of  it ;  differs  by  reason  of  the 
things  he  has  to  do,  but  scarcely  of  the  things 
he  has  to  see.  No  nation  has  produced  fewer 
artists  than  the  Swiss." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Wotton,  "  this  effect,  what- 
ever be  its  value,  lies  in  a  great  measure  open 
to  all  men,  dwell  where  they  may.  The 
bleakest  moor  I  can  stand  on  is  visited  by  the 
eye  of  Heaven,  and  bears  on  its  bosom  the 
traces  of  innumerable  years.  The  pebble  I 
strike  from  my  path  was  severed  from  distant 
mountains  in  the  primeval  convulsions  of  Na- 
ture, and  has  rolled  for  ages  in  the  depth  of 
waters.  This  streamlet,  nameless  except  to  a 


72  WOTTEN  RE  IN  FRED. 

few  herdsmen,  was  meted  out  by  the  hand  of 
the  Omnipotent  as  well  as  the  great  ocean ;  it 
is  ancient  as  the  Flood,  and  was  murmuring 
through  its  solitude  when  the  ships  of  ^Eneas 
ascended  the  Tiber,  or  Silva's  Brook  was  flow- 
ing past  by  the  Oracle  of  God." 

"  Yet  surely,"  said  Bernard,  "  there  are  de- 
grees of  beauty  in  external  things;  beauty 
more  direct,  and  I  will  add  more  pure,  than 
those  universal  attributes  which  my  friend 
here  paints  so  vividly.  Is  it  not  the  essence 
of  all  true  beauty,  of  all  true  greatness,  that  it 
makes  us  forget  our  own  little  individuality  ? 
That  we  mingle  for  the  moment  as  if  in 
boundless  glory,  feeling  not  that  we  are  thus 
and  thus,  but  only  that  we  are ;  remembering 
nothing  of  ourselves,  least  of  all  that  we  are 
weak  and  needy  and  of  short  duration?" 

"  Surely,"  answered  Wotton.  "  And  if 
mountain  or  any  other  scenery  could  do  this," 
added  he,  pensively,  "it  were  well  worth 
travelling  to  see." 

"  One  thing,  at  least,  you  have  many  times 
occasion  to  observe,  no  topic  sooner  or  more 


WOT  TON  REIN  FRED.  73 

painfully  wearies  us  than  description  of  scen- 
ery. Your  view-hunter  is  the  most  irksome 
of  all  articulate-speaking  men." 

"  A  proof  of  the  little  interest  we  really 
take  in  views,"  answered  the  stranger. 

"  Besides,"  added  Wotton,  "  if  long-winded 
he  is  generally  in  part  insincere  :  there  is  cant 
in  his  raptures;  he  is  treating  us  not  with 
his  subject,  but  with  his  own  false  vainglori- 
ous self.  At  best  it  is  in  sensations  not  in 
thoughts  that  he  is  describing ;  and  no  sensa- 
tions, except  our  own,  can  long  fix  our  atten- 
tion." 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  the  stranger,  with  a 
kind  smile,  "  by  your  accent  I  take  you  to  be 
Scotch,  yet  your  philosophy  is  not  what  we 
call  Scotch." 

"  Is  Scotch  philosophy  in  very  bad  odour 
here?"  inquired  Wotton,  somewhat  piqued 
for  the  honour  of  his  country. 

"  In  bad  odour  I  should  not  say,"  replied 
the  stranger,  "  for  our  little  commonwealth  is 
a  willing  member  of  the  great  one;  and 
everywhere,  disguise  it  as  we  may,  in  the 


74  WOTTON  REINFRED. 

senate,  the  press,  the  pulpit,  the  parlour, 
and  the  market,  David  Hume  is  ruler  of  the 
world." 

"The  pulpit?"  cried  Bernard. 

"  I  have  said,"  answered  the  stranger ; 
"  but  it  is  a  subject  too  long  for  present  dis- 
cussion. On  the  whole,  I  honour  the  Scotch, 
and  quarrel  not  with  their  philosophy.  But 
see,  gentlemen,"  continued  he,  "  our  roads 
will  soon  part ;  at  the  corner  of  that  gray  cliff 
I  turn  to  another  valley.  You  are  still  far 
from  your  inn :  if  a  stranger's  invitation 
might  prevail,  you  shall  go  with  me  and  rest 
you  in  the  House  of  the  Wold.  The  path  is 
rough,  but  the  place  is  tolerable,  and  good 
welcome  will  not  fail  you.  Come  with  me," 
added  he,  "  I  will  show  you  wonders." 

To  Bernard,  fond  of  adventures  and  hope- 
ful of  all  dubious  issues,  these  were  no  un- 
pleasant words.  He  looked  wistfully  on  Wot- 
ton,  who,  rating  the  speech  as  little  more 
than  a  flourish  of  rhetoric,  had  no  thought  of 
accepting  the  proposal,  no  thought  that  their 
acceptance  of  it  was  desired.  But  as  the 


WOT  TON  RE  IN  FRED.  .  75 

stranger  pulled  up  at  the  parting  of  the  roads, 
and  with  the  kindest  frankness  in  words  and 
looks  that  could  not  be  mistaken,  assured 
them  that  their  presence  would  cause  not 
trouble  but  much  enjoyment;  and  withal, 
smiling  on  Wotton,  with  whom,  as  he  per- 
ceived, lay  the  hindrance,  told  him  that  it 
were  hard  to  part  till  they  had  talked  of 
Scotch  philosophy,  the  latter  yielded ;  and 
so,  after  some  complimentary  formalities,  our 
travellers  turned  their  horses  to  the  right 
along  with  him.  Their  road  or  rather  track 
lay  up  a  winding  rocky  glen  and  many  times 
crossed  the  brook  which  was  gurgling  along 
its  bottom  to  join  the  larger  stream  of  the 
main  valley. 

Ascending  the  pass,  after  half  an  hour's 
incommodious  riding,  they  found  the  brook, 
no  longer  fed  by  subsidiary  springs,  dimin- 
ished to  a  rill,  which  also  in  a  little  while 
ending  in  a  boggy  delta  disappeared  from 
their  side.  A  rough  causeway,  which  seemed 
to  be  the  work  of  man,  conducted  them 
across  the  swamp,  still  overshaded  by  craggy 


76  WOTTON  REIN  FRED. 

heights;  till  as  they  proceeded,  the  bog  again 
drew  to  a  point,  and  another  thread  of  water 
began  to  indent  with  its  tiny  channel  the  bot- 
tom of  another  glen,  descending  in  the  oppo- 
site direction,  but  narrow,  deep,  winding  and 
rocky  as  the  former. 

" Facilis  descensus  Averni"  said  the  guide, 
smiling :  "  the  worst  of  our  road  is  past." 
Ere  long,  in  fact,  the  walls  of  their  chasm  be- 
gan to  widen  and  soften ;  copse  wood  alter- 
nating with  verdure  mantled  the  steep,  a 
shepherd's  hut  rose  cheerful  and  secure  in 
the  hollow,  and  at  the  next  turn  our  travellers 
emerged  into  a  scene  which  no  stranger  ap- 
proaching it  by  such  a  road  could  view  with- 
out astonishment. 

"  It  is  the  Happy  Valley  of  Prince  Rasse- 
las!"  cried  Wotton. 

"  It  is  not  Avernus,  but  Elysium  ! "  cried 
Bernard. 

"It  is  the  House  of  the  Wold,"  said  the 
guide,  "  where  refreshment  and  rest  are  wait- 
ing us." 

A   circular    valley    of    some    furlongs    in 


WOT  TON  RE  IN  FRED. 


77 


diameter  lay  round  them,  like  a  huge  amphi- 
theatre, broken  only  in  its  contour  by  the 
entrance  of  two  oblique  chasms  like  the  one 
they  had  left ;  on  its  level  bottom  of  the 
purest  green  stood  a  large  stately  mansion, 
which  seemed  to  be  of  granite,  for  in  the  sun- 
beams it  glittered  from  amid  its  high  clusters 
of  foliage  like  a  palace  of  El  Dorado,  over- 
laid with  precious  metal.  Behind  it,  and  on 
both  sides  at  a  distance,  the  hills  sloped 
up  in  gentle  wavy  curvature ;  the  sward  was 
of  the  greenest,  embossed  here  and  there 
with  low  dark- brown  frets  of  crag,  or  spotted 
by  some  spreading  solitary  tree  and  its  shad- 
ow ;  in  front  at  a  corner  of  the  valley  lay 
the  small  lake,  hemmed  in  by  woody  cliffs: 
and  beyond  and  around  all  this,  ridge  after 
ridge,  higher  and  bluer  and  wilder  as 
they  receded  were  seen  the  peaks  of  the 
mountains  watching  in  severe  loveliness, 
like  everlasting  guardians,  over  a  scene  so 
calm. 

Servants  hastened  out  on  the  lawn  to  meet 

our  travellers,  who  a  few  minutes  after  found 
6 


78  WOTTON  REIN  FRED. 

themselves  in  a  large  parlour  before  the  lady 
of  the  mansion. 

"  Dorothy,  my  love,"  said  the  host,  "  I 
have  made  a  capture  in  the  east  to-day. 
Here  are  two  strangers,  whom  we  must 
change  into  friends." 

"The  beginning  of  friendship  is  good 
offices,"  replied  she,  with  graceful  courtesy : 
"  you  must  be  faint  and  wearied,  as  pilgrims 
are  wont;  and  dinner  will  not  come  for  an 
hour." 

For  the  present  our  friends  declined  any 
refreshment;  and  after  some  little  conversa- 
tion, which  could  not  but  be  general  and 
formal,  they  gladly  retired  to  their  chambers, 
under  pretext  of  dressing,  a  process  which, 
with  the  scanty  wardrobe  of  travellers,  was 
soon  enough  performed,  but  chiefly  that  they 
might  have  time  to  consider  their  adventure, 
and  collect  their  thoughts,  which  this  ren- 
counter and  its  unexpected  issue  had  some- 
what put  to  rout. 

The  pealing  of  a  gong  in  a  little  while  sum- 
moned our  friends  to  the  drawing-room,  from 


WOT  TON  REIN  FRED.  79 

which  in  a  few  minutes  a  party  of  some 
twelve  persons  moved  down  in  order  to  a 
table  tastefully  and  plenteously  furnished. 
Sprightly  conversation  enlivened  the  repast; 
the  company  seemed  singularly  varied  for  its 
number;  each  an  original  in  his  class;  men, 
as  it  appeared  generally,  of  intellect  and  edu- 
cation, rather  than  of  special  rank  or  breed- 
ing ;  yet  all  animated  by  good  humour,  and  in- 
sensibly participating  in  the  gentle  influences 
of  their  hosts,  whose  manners  indicated  a  re- 
finement in  every  point  corresponding  with 
the  highest  station.  Their  fair  mistress,  for, 
though  elderly,  she  still  bore  traces  of  a  sin- 
gular beauty,  a  woman  of  the  stateliest  yet  hu- 
manest  respect,  presided  over  them  with  the 
graceful  dignity  of  a  queen.  To  Wotton  the 
sound  of  her  voice  was  melody;  the  few 
words  she  spoke  were  of  the  most  polished, 
yet  expressive  sort;  her  little  sentences,  so 
meekly  and  opportunely  uttered,  stood  before 
the  mind  like  living  images,  full  of  loveliness 
and  persuasion.  Fain  would  the  poor  youth 
have  spoken  to  her,  fain  have  replied  to  her 


gO  WOTTON  REINFRED. 

courtesies  with  a  copiousness  proportioned  to 
his  feeling  of  them  ;  but  his  heart  was  pressed 
together  by  so  singular  an  environment;  he 
felt  as  if  he  had  no  right  to  be  so  splendidly 
welcomed,  as  if  it  were  by  mistake  that  he 
was  here. 

Other  ladies  also  there  were  ;  young,  beau- 
tiful, and  blooming;  visitors,  as  it  might  be 
gathered,  from  no  distant  neighbourhood  ;  and 
not  without  fit  gallants  proud  to  do  them  serv- 
ice: but  these  fair  ones  skirmished  only  in 
buckram  or  from  afar ;  what  manner  of  per- 
sons they  might  be  you  did  not  learn  ;  and 
Virgil  could  only  have  described  them  as 
pule hr am  Annam,  pulchramque  Elisam.  With 
one  of  these  Bernard  entered  on  a  sort  of  dis- 
tant flirtation  to  Wotton's  astonishment,  who 
could  not  comprehend  such  audacity,  or  help 
half-envying  the  success  it  appeared  to  meet 
with.  Though  he  had  loved,  he  was  an  utter 
novice  in  affairs  of  love :  vain  had  it  been  for 
Chesterfield  to  tell  him  and  assure  him  that 
every  woman  wishes  us  to  love  her ;  in  his 
tenfold  diffidence  and  disbelief  it  never  struck 


WOTTON  REIN  FRED.  gl 

him  that  his  approbation  could  be  of  worth  to 
any  one.  He  was  even  threatening  to  become 
absent,  for  sad  thoughts  were  gathering  on 
him ;  these  beauties  were  blond ;  but  dark 
locks  clustered  round  another  face  far  nobler ; 
and  black  eyes  had  told  him  such  things ! 
Lies  they  were — perhaps  not  altogether  lies ! 
yet  lovelier  than  any  truth  :  it  was  pain  to  re- 
member them,  but  to  forget  them  was  like  a 
living  death. 

The  cloth  being  removed,  conversation, 
which  had  hitherto  turned  chiefly  on  the  vari- 
ous personal  adventures  of  the  morning,  be- 
gan to  take  a  wider  range.  Public  occur- 
rences and  persons,  glanced  at  rather  than  dis- 
cussed, led  the  way  to  topics  more  strictly 
intellectual ;  to  abstract  views  of  men  and 
things  set  forth  in  criticisms,  expositions,  com- 
parisons, and  the  other  ever-varying  modes 
by  which  in  social  hours  our  individual  Philos- 
ophy of  Life  may  be  so  delightfully  communi- 
cated and  apprehended. 

To  Wotton,  much,  indeed  passionately  as 
he  liked  such  conversation,  the  tone  of  the 


82  WOTTON  REINFRED. 

present  company  was,  nevertheless,  in  some 
degree  alien :  the  feeling  it  awoke  in  him  was 
one  of  surprise  and  unrest  as  well  as  pleasure. 
The  Attic  salt,  that  air  of  candour  and  good- 
ness, those  striking  glimpses  of  man's  nature 
and  its  sufferings  and  wants,  had  his  sympathy 
and  hearty  approval ;  but  he  sought  in  vain 
for  the  basis  on  which  these  people  had  built 
their  opinions  ;  their  whole  form  of  being 
seemed  different  from  his.  Men  equally  in- 
formed and  cultivated  he  had  sometimes  met 
with,  but  seldom  or  never  had  he  seen  such 
culture  of  the  intellect  combined  with  such 
moral  results,  nay,  as  it  appeared,  conducing 
to  them.  Here  were  fearless  and  free  think- 
ers, yet  they  seemed  not  unbelievers,  but,  on 
the  contrary,  possessed  with  charity  and  zeal : 
their  affirmations  and  denials  would  not  har- 
monise in  his  conception.  It  is  not  always 
that  originality,  even  when  true  and  estima- 
ble, pleases  us  at  first ;  if  it  go  beyond  our 
sphere  it  is  much  more  likely  to  unsettle  and 
provoke  us.  Of  much  that  he  heard,  Wotton 
knew  not  what  to  determine  ;  it  was  a  strain 


WOTTON  REIN  FRED.  83 

of  thought  which  suited  not  with  any  of  his 
categories,  either  of  truth  or  error ;  in  which, 
therefore,  he  could  only  mingle  stintedly  and 
timidly,  for  he  felt  as  if  hovering  in  the  vortex 
of  some  strange  element,  in  which  as  yet  he 
had  not  learned  to  move. 

What,  for  instance,  could  he  make  of  such 
tenets  as  this,  in  which,  however,  several  so- 
ber-minded persons,  their  host  among  the 
number,  seemed  partially  to  acquiesce  ? 

"  Demonstrability  is  not  the  test  of  truth ; 
logic  is  for  what  the  understanding  sees,  what 
is  truest  we  do  not  see,  for  it  has  no  form,  be- 
ing infinite ;  the  highest  truth  cannot  be  ex- 
pressed in  words." 

"  How  is  it  expressed,  then  ? "  cried  the 
brisk  voice  of  Henry  Williams ;  a  speaker, 
whom,  alone  of  them  all,  Wotton  had  from 
the  first  understood. 

"  How  is  it  expressed,  then  ?  "  cried  Wot- 
ton and  several  more,  in  tones  partly  of  in- 
quiry, partly  of  cavil. 

"  It  is  expressed  oftener  than  it  is  listened 
to  or  comprehended,"  said  the  other  in  reply  ; 


84  WOTTON  REIN  FRED. 

"  for  our  ears  are  heavy,  and  the  divine  har- 
mony of  the  spheres  is  drowned  in  the  gross, 
harsh  dissonance  of  earthly  things.  Ex- 
pressed ?  In  the  expiring  smile  of  martyrs ; 
in  the  actions  of  a  Howard  and  a  Cato  ;  in  the 
still  existence  of  all  good  men.  Echoes  of  it 
come  to  us  from  the  song  of  the  poet ;  the  sky 
with  its  azure  and  its  rainbow  and  its  beautiful 
vicissitudes  of  morn  and  even  shows  it  forth  ; 
the  earth  also  with  her  floods  and  everlasting 
Alps,  the  ocean  in  its  tempests  and  its  calms. 
It  is  an  open  secret,  but  we  have  no  clear 
vision  for  it :  woe  to  us  if  we  have  no  vision 
at  all!" 

"  Kantism  !  Kantism  !  "  cried  several  voices. 
"  German  mysticism !  mere  human  faculties 
cannot  take  it  in."  Wotton  looked  at  this 
singular  exotic  speaker;  he  was  a  man  of 
sixty,  yet  still  hale  and  fresh ;  thin  gray  hair 
lay  over  a  head  of  striking  proportions ;  the 
face  was  furrowed  and  overlined  with  traces 
of  long,  deep,  and  subtle  thought,  of  feeling 
rather  fine  than  passionate,  and  this  of  pain  as 
much  as  pleasure  ;  there  was  especially  a  look 


WOT  TON  REIN  FRED.  85 

of  strange  anxiety  in  the  eyes ;  a  look  at  once 
of  vehemence  and  fear  :  indeed  the  whole  man 
seemed  labouring  with  some  idea,  which  he 
longed  vainly  to  impart,  for  which,  while  he 
sought  earnestly  some  outward  form,  he  knew 
beforehand  that  none  would  be  found. 

"  My  good  Dalbrook,"  said  Maurice  (such 
was  the  landlord's  name),  "  we  are  hard  bested 
with  these  gainsayers.  Do  you  mean  that  the 
sense  of  poetic  beauty  and  moral  obligation  is 
the  highest  truth,  and  to  be  apprehended  not 
by  conviction  but  by  persuasion,  not  by  cult- 
ure of  the  head  but  of  the  heart  ?  " 

"  There  is  a  truth  of  the  market  place," 
continued  Dalbrook,  attending  little  to  the 
question ;  "  a  truth  of  the  laboratory,  and  a 
truth  of  the  soul.  The  first  two  are  of  things 
seen  and  their  relations,  they  are  practical  or 
physically  scientific,  and  belong  to  the  under- 
standing ;  the  last  is  of  things  unseen  and  be- 
longs exclusively  to  the  reason." 

"  Reason,  understanding  ?  Things  unseen.?  " 
cried  the  sceptics. 

"  Laplace's  Mtcanique  Celeste,  Adam  Smith's 


86  WOTTON  REIN  FRED. 

Wealth  of  Nations  are  full  of  understanding," 
continued  Dalbrook,  "  but  of  reason  there  is 
hardly  any  trace  in  either.  Alas !  the  hum- 
blest peasant  reverently  offering  up  his  poor 
prayer  to  God,  and  in  trembling  faith  draw- 
ing near  to  Him  as  to  his  Father ;  thus  recogniz- 
ing, worshipping,  loving,  under  emblems  how- 
ever rude,  the  invisible  and  eternal,  has  many 
times  more  reason,  mixed  as  it  is  with  weakness 
and  delusion,  than  vainglorious  doctors  for 
whose  philosophy  there  is  nothing  too  hard." 

"  Then  you  think  with  Hucheson  that  there 
is  a  moral  faculty,  and  that  taste  and  virtue 
are  not  the  result  of  association  ? "  cried  a 
young  Oxonian,  with  a  look  of  glad  earnest- 
ness. 

Dalbrook  looked  down,  arching  his  eye- 
brows very  high.  "  Faculty  !  Association  !  " 
repeated  he,  with  an  unspeakable  accent.  The 
Oxonian  fell  back. 

Bernard  had  listened  with  no  ordinary  in- 
terest. "  Then  pray,  sir,"  said  he,  "  is  not  this 
understanding  like  what  Bacon  calls  his  lumen 
siccum  ;  and  reason  like  his  lumen  madidum,  or 


WOTTON  REINFRED.  87 

intellect  steeped  in  affection  ?  "  The  old  man 
looked  up  with  an  air  of  partial  contentment, 
but  slightly  shook  his  head.  "  Understand- 
ing perceives  and  judges  of  images  and  meas- 
ures of  things,"  said  he ;  "  reason  perceives 
and  judges  of  what  has  no  measure  or  image. 
The  latter  only  is  unchangeable  and  everlast- 
ing in  its  decisions,  the  results  of  the  former 
change  from  age  to  age  ;  it  is  for  these  that 
men  persecute  and  destroy  each  other;  yet 
these  comparatively  are  not  worth  the  name 
of  truth,  they  are  not  truth,  but  only  ephem- 
eral garments  of  truth." 

"  Then  what  in  heaven's  name  is  truth," 
said  an  atrabiliar  gentleman,  whom,  in  spite  of 
his  politeness,  the  whole  discussion  was  too 
evidently  wearying. 

"  Truth  !  "  interrupted  Williams  in  his  gay 
voice,  "  Home  Tooke's  is  the  best  of  all  defi- 
nitions :  truth  is  simply  troweth,  or  that  which 
is  trowed,  or  believed.  In  this  way  we  have 
many  troweths,  and  my  troweth  is  very  differ- 
ent from  thy  troweth,  and  the  only  rule  is  that 
the  one  should  let  the  other  live  in  peace." 


88  WOTTON  REINFRED. 

"It  is  not  essential  to  being  happy,"  ob- 
served our  Oxonian  from  beside  the  fair 
Anna :  "  the  way  to  happiness  is  plain  before 
all  men  if  they  like  to  follow  it." 

"  Aye  !  "  said  the  atrabiliar,  who  seemed  to 
be  his  uncle  or  some  relation. 

"  But  they  miss  it,"  continued  the  other, 
"by  cowardice  and  indecision."  The  clear 
eyes  and  buxom  sceptic  aspect  of  this  youth 
seemed  to  vex  his  relation. 

"  My  good  sir,"  replied  he,  "  we  have  all 
had  pretty  views  of  it  ourselves  in  our  time. 
Fair  and  softly !  There  is  an  age  when  to 
every  man  life  appears  the  simplest  matter. 
How  very  manageable  !  Every  why  has  its 
wherefore  ;  this  leads  to  that,  and  the  whole 
problem  of  existence  is  easy  and  certain  as  a 
question  in  the  Rule  of  Three.  Multiply  the  sec- 
ond and  third  terms  together,  and  divide  the  prod- 
uct by  the  first,  and  the  quotient  will  be  the  an- 
swer !  Trust  me,  friend,  before  you  come  to 
my  time  of  day,  you  will  find  there  is  a  devil- 
ish fraction  always  over,  do  what  you  will ; 
and  if  you  try  to  reduce  it,  it  goes  into  a  re- 


WOT  TON  REIN  FRED.  89 

peating  decimal  and  leads  you  the  Lord  knows 
whither.  Life  happy  !  "  continued  he  :  "  what 
thinking  mortal  ever  found  it  so  ?  Which  of 
us  might  not  say  with  Swift:  I  have  had 
hours  that  might  be  tolerated,  but  none  which 
could  be  enjoyed,  and  my  life  in  general  has 
been  misery  !  Show  me  a  man  that  is  happy, 
and  I  will  show  thee  a  man  that  has — an  excel- 
lent nervous  system.  Williams,  when  you 
write  again,  it  should  be  an  essay  on  the  Com- 
forts of  Stupidity. 

"  I  have  sometimes  taken  that  matter  into 
consideration,"  answered  Williams,  "  but  I 
fear  I  should  vote  rather  against  you.  Much, 
much  depends  on  the  nerves ;  but  something 
also  on  prudence  and  wise  management.  On 
the  whole,  too,  I  think  Nature  is  kind  to  us, 
and  it  is  a  blessing  to  exist:  there  is  more  of 
happiness  in  life  than  of  misery." 

"  To  me  the  contrary  is  clear  as  noon," 
said  the  other;  "and  have  not  all  countries 
and  stations  recorded  opinions  in  my  favour  ? 
'  Man  that  is  born  of  a  woman  is  of  few  days, 
and  full  of  evil,'  says  the  Patriarch.  '  He  is 


QO  WOTTON  REINFRED. 

born  to  trouble,  as  the  sparks  fly  upwards.' 
'  It  is  better  to  sit  than  to  walk/  say  the  In- 
dians, '  it  is  better  to  sleep  than  to  wake ;  but 
to  be  dead  is  best  of  all.' — When  an  infant  was 
presented  for  consecration  to  the  Mexican 
priest,  his  address  to  it  was,  '  Remember  that 
thou  art  come  into  the  world  to  suffer ;  suffer 
then,  and  be  silent ! '  What  more  can  any  of 
us  say  ?  " 

"  But  there  is  a  fairer  land  on  the  other 
side  of  the  dark  waters,"  said  Dorothy, 
meekly ;  "  where  pain  and  sin  are  banished. 
This  is  but  a  winter  day's  journey  to  a  home 
that  is  glorious  and  enduring." 

"  Alas ! "  ejaculated  he,  lifting  up  his  fin- 
gers from  the  bottom  of  his  glass,  then  slowly 
restoring  them,  without  farther  speech,  then 
looking  up  with  a  smile.  On  the  whole,  this 
gentleman  had  no  look  of  death,  but  rather  of 
jollity  and  social  well-being.  At  dinner  he 
had  done  fair  duty,  his  wine  he  was  sipping, 
moderately,  and  not  without  relish,  while  he 
talked  in  this  lugubrious  dialect,  and  to  what 
spleen  soever  might  be  lurking  about  his 


WOT  TON  RE  IN  FRED.  91 

heart,  these  speeches  were  evidently  giving 
comfortable  vent. 

"Surely,  sir,"  said  Wotton,  who,  in  spite 
of  similarity  in  thought,  sympathised  but  ill 
with  him,  "  if  your  opinion  is  correct,  there 
ought  to  be  a  change  in  our  social  arrange- 
ments. Nay,  what  use  is  there  for  social  ar- 
rangements, or  aught  else  in  this  life,  since 
life  itself  is  an  evil,  and  there  is  nothing  be- 
yond it?  Let  us  pay  off  our  clergy,  pull 
down  our  parish  churches,  and  on  the  ruins 
of  each  establish  simply  a  bag  of  arsenic 
for  the  good  of  the  parish.  It  might  be 
kept  up  by  contribution,  and  would  save 
us  tithes.  We  could  have  it  supended  on  a 
pole,  with  this  superscription,  '  Ho,  every 
one ! ' " 

The  atrabiliar  himself  was  forced  to  join  in 
the  laugh,  which  rose  on  all  sides  at  his  ex- 
pense. "  A  hit !  A  palpable  hit !  "  cried  Will- 
iams. "  The  arsenic-bag,  the  arsenic-bag  for 
ever !  The  death  of  all  blue-devil  philoso- 
phy ! "  cried  the  others. — "  Young  gentleman, 
I  must  owe  you  a  thrust,"  said  the  atrabiliar, 


92  WOTTON  RE  IN  FRED. 

laughing ;  "  for  the  present,  your  arsenic  is 
too  strong." 

"  Nay,  cousin,  you  deserve  it,"  said  Mau- 
rice, "  for  the  cause  is  radically  bad  ;  even  if 
true,  you  were  wrong  to  urge  it.  Does  not 
the  adage  say,  '  Speak  no  evil  of  your  own  ? ' 
This  life,  be  what  it  may,  is  all  that  has  been 
given  us,  to  mend  or  to  mar,  to  hold  and  to 
have  for  better  for  worse ;  and  not  by  reviling 
and  contemning  what  is  bad  in  it,  but  by  ar- 
ranging, furthering,  augmenting  what  is  good 
shall  we  ever  turn  it  to  account.  Fie !  would 
you  list  under  no  better  flag  than  the  devil's  ? 
Your  arch  fault-finder  is  the  devil ;  it  is  no 
one's  trade  but  his  to  dwell  on  negations,  to 
impugn  the  darkness  and  overlook  the  light ; 
and  out  of  the  glorious  All  itself  to  educe  not 
beauty  but  deformity." 

"  I  believe,"  added  Williams,  "  there  is 
generally  in  this  very  trite  topic  one  of  those 
ambiguities  in  language,  which  logicians  are  so 
frequently  beset  with,  and  this  chiefly  occa- 
sions the  dilemma.  When  we  speak  of  happi- 
ness and  being  happy,  we  half  unconsciously 


WOTTON  REIN  FRED.  93 

mean  some  extra  enjoyment,  if  I  may  say  so, 
pleasure,  some  series  of  agreeable  sensation, 
superadded  to  the  ordinary  pleasure  of  existing, 
which  really,  if  free  from  positive  pain,  is  all 
we  have  right  to  pretend  to.  In  place  of 
reckoning  ourselves  happy  when  we  are  not 
miserable,  we  reckon  ourselves  miserable 
when  not  happy.  A  proceeding,  if  you  think 
of  it,  quite  against  rule  !  What  claim  have  I 
to  be  in  raptures?  None  in  the  world,  except 
that  I  have  taken  such  a  whim  into  my  own 
wise  head  ;  and  having  got  so  much,  I  feel  as 
if  I  could  never  get  my  due.  It  is  with  man 
and  enjoyment  as  with  the  miser  and  money : 
the  more  he  gets  the  more  he  wants." 

"  It  is  our  vanity,"  said  Maurice ;  "  our 
boundless  self-conceit.  Make  us  emperors  of 
the  earth,  nay,  of  the  universe,  we  should  soon 
feel  as  if  we  deserved  it,  and  much  more." 

"  Poor  fellows !  "  added  Williams.  "  And 
so  when  the  young  gentleman  goes  forth  into 
the  world,  and  finds  that  it  is  really  and  truly 
not  made  of  wax,  but  of  stone  and  metal,  and 

will  keep  its  own  shape,  let  the  young  gentle- 
7 


94  WOTTON  REIN  FRED. 

man  fume  as  he  likes ;  bless  us,  what  a  storm 
he  gets  into !  What  terrible  elegies,  and  pin- 
darics,  and  CJulde  Harolds  and  Sorrows  of 
Wcrter  !  O  devil  take  it,  Providence  is  in  the 
wrong  ;  has  used  him  (sweet,  meritorious  gen- 
tleman) unjustly.  He  will  bring  his  action  of 
damages  against  Providence !  Trust  me,  a 
hopeful  lawsuit ! " 

"  We  are  too  apt  to  forget,"  said  Bernard, 
"  that  for  creatures  formed  as  we  are,  all  per- 
manent enjoyment  must  be  active  not  passive. 
Without  evil  there  were  for  us  no  good  ;  our 
condition  is  militant ;  it  is  only  in  labour  that 
we  rest.  Our  highest,  our  only  real  blessed- 
ness, lies  in  this  very  warfare  with  evil.  Let 
us  conquer  it  or  not ;  truly  an  abundant  bless- 
edness, but  which,  as  you  remark,  we  seldom 
take  into  account  in  our  estimates  of  life. 
Weighing  the  attainment,  we  find  it  light, 
and  the  search  must  go  for  nothing.  We 
would  have  a  paradise  of  spontaneous  pleas- 
ures ;  forgetting  that  in  such  a  paradise  the 
dullest  spirit  would  and  must  grow  wearied, 
nay,  in  time  unspeakably  wretched." 


WOTTON  REINFRED.  95 

"  Yes,"  added  Maurice,  "  the  lubberland  of 
the  old  poets  in  an  impossible  chimera ;  im- 
possible, even  in  the  region  of  chimeras." 

"  Yet  it  is  this  very  lubberland,"  said  Ber- 
nard, "which  so  many  pilgrims  are  seeking, 
and  in  despair  because  they  cannot  find." 

"  Most  know  not  what  they  are  seeking," 
said  Wotton,  "  but  wander  with  the  crowd, 
picking  sloes  and  brambles  by  the  way ; 
others  run  hither  and  thither,  now  after  this 
gewgaw,  now  after  that.  Pilgrims  also  we 
have,  walking  apart,  with  their  faces  set  on 
distant  glorious  landmarks ;  but  your  sloe- 
and-bramble  men  are  the  happiest." 

"  In  spite  of  your  arsenic,"  said  the  atra- 
biliar,  "  1  half  suspect  you  agree  with  me  ;  in 
a  private  corner  you  would  say,  there  is  little 
happiness  in  the  world,  and  that  little  chiefly 
for  fools." 

"  Happiness  is  not  man's  object,"  said  Dai- 
brook,  awakening  from  a  muse.  "  He  does 
not  find  it,  he  ought  not  to  seek  it,  neither  is 
it  his  highest  wish." 

"  Wish  ?  "    cried    Williams.      "  Nay,    Dal- 


96  WOT  TON  RE  IN  FRED. 

brook,  of  all  your  paradoxes  this  is  the  most 
paradoxical." 

"  Pleasure  and  pain,"  continued  the  other, 
little  moved,  "  are  interwoven  with  every  ele- 
ment of  life  :  to  love  the  one  and  hate  the 
other  is  the  essence  of  all  sentient  natures, 
nor  for  a  nature  merely  sentient  is  there  any 
higher  law.  But  was  man  made  only  to  feel  ? 
Is  there  nothing  better  in  him  than  a  passive 
system  of  susceptibilities  ?  Can  he  move  only 
like  a  finer  piece  of  clockwork  when  you 
touch  this  spring  and  stop  when  you  touch 
that  other  ?  Is  his  spirit  a  quality,  not  a  sub- 
stance ?  has  it  no  power,  no  will  ?  And  is  his 
freedom,  that  celestial  patent  of  nobility,  the 
crowning  gift  of  God,  to  mark  him  for  the 
sovereign  of  this  lower  world,  a  mockery  and 
a  lie  ?  O  philosophy !  O  heaven-descended 
wisdom  !  what  hast  thou  been  made  to  teach  ! 
In  thy  name  cozeners  have  beguiled  us  of  our 
birthright  and  sold  us  into  bondage,  and  we 
are  no  longer  servants  of  goodness,  but  slaves 
of  self.  My  friends  !  "  continued  the  old  man, 
with  a  singular  half-natural,  half-preaching 


WOT  TON  RE  IX FRED.  97 

tone,  "  I  say  to  you  this  is  false  and  poisonous 
doctrine,  and  the  heart  of  every  good  man 
feels  that  it  is  false,  and  well  for  him  if  he 
pluck  it  out  and  cast  it  away  for  ever  !  If  not, 
farewell  to  all  religion,  all  true  virtue,  all  true 
feeling  of  the  beautiful  and  good,  all  dignity 
of  life,  all  grandeur  beyond  it !  Nature,  in- 
deed, is  kind,  and  from  under  the  basest  phi- 
losophy some  gleams  of  natural  goodness  will 
break  forth  ;  nay,  thank  heaven,  righteousness 
and  mercy  are  everlasting  inmates  of  man's 
spirit,  overcloud  them  as  we  may ;  but  all 
that  any  creed  can  do  to  banish  them,  this 
does." 

"  By  day  and  night ! "  cried  Williams. 
"  This  is  wondrous  strange.  Must  a  man  be- 
come vicious  because  he  wishes  to  be  happy  ? 
Because  he  wishes  to  be  happy  ?  no  ;  but  be- 
cause he  wishes  nothing  more,  yes,  doubtless. 
What  is  virtue ;  tell  me  ?  A  task  to  be  per- 
formed for  hire  ?  This  is  not  virtue,  but  profit 
and  loss.  If  ye  do  these  things  that  good 
may  come,  what  reward  have  ye  ?  Do  not 
even  the  Pharisees  the  same  ?  " 


gg  WOTTON  REIN  FRED 

"  But  is  not  Heaven  promised  to  the  Chris- 
tian as  a  recompense  ?  Of  Heaven  and  the 
Christian  we  might  have  much  to  say,  but 
this  is  not  the  time  for  it.  One  thing  I  am 
sure  of,  no  Christian  man  was  ever  a  Christian 
because  he  hoped  for  Heaven,  or  would  cease 
to  be  so,  though  that  hope  were  taken  from 
him.  Nay,  hear  me  ;  true  religion  is  grounded 
not  on  expectation,  but  on  vision  ;  not  on  pal- 
try hopes  of  pleasure,  satisfaction,  happiness, 
whatever  you  may  name  it,  but  on  all-pervad- 
ing, soul-subduing,  infinite  love  of  goodness. 
Self  is  self,  whether  its  calculations  end  with 
the  passing  day,  or  stretch  to  the  limits  of 
eternity." 

"  Wire-drawing,"  murmured  the  atrabilian 
"  Metaphysical  quibbles,"  said  he. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Williams,  "  if  you  push 
matters  so  far,  there  are  few  of  us  will  stand 
your  scrutiny.  To  say  nothing  of  Utilitarians, 
Epicureans,  and  other  tribes  of  the  avowed 
alien ;  it  seems  to  me  that  many  an  orthodox 
devout  person,  if  tried  by  this  electrometer, 
might  find  himself  in  a  shockingly  negative 


WOT  TON  REIN  FRED.  gg 

state.  Self-seeking,  if  you  so  understand  it,  is 
certainly  the  staple  of  human  principle  ;  for 
my  share,  I  will  confess,  I  find  it  difficult  to 
see  how  any  living-  creature  can  act  on  any 
other.  If  you  told  me,  '  This  is  and  will  be 
pleasant,  that  is  and  will  be  painful,'  should  I 
not,  must  I  not,  reject  the  latter  and  cling  to 
the  former  ?  " 

"  But  if  I  told  you,  '  The  pleasant  is  and 
will  be  vicious,  the  painful  is  and  will  be 
virtuous '  ?  "  said  Maurice,  hastening  to  assist 
Dalbrook,  who  seemed  to  be  ill  at  ease  in  ar- 
gument. 

"  'Tis  an  impossible  case,"  said  the  other. 
"  Admit  it  for  a  moment ;  would  you  feel  no 
twinge,  no  compunctious  visiting  ?  Nay,  if  I 
offered  that  you  should  to  all  eternity  be  filled 
and  satisfied  with  pleasure,  on  condition  that 
you  became  a  villain  and  a  fool,  supposing 
even  that  I  took  your  conscience  from  you, 
and  no  trace  of  repentance  or  remembrance 
were  ever  to  afflict  you  again,  would  you 
strike  the  bargain  without  scruple  ?  Would 
you  plunge  into  the  scene  as  into  your  native 


100  WOT  TON  REIN  FRED. 

element  ?  Would  you  hasten  to  it  as  to  the 
bosom  of  a  mother  ?  Would  there  be  no 
whisper  of  gainsaying  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  some  whisper ;  but — " 

"  That  little  whisper  saves  us !  "  cried  Mau- 
rice. 

"  It  was  the  voice  of  your  better  genius  !  " 
cried  Dalbrook. 

"  Perhaps  only  of  my  vanity,"  said  Will- 
iams. "  I  might  not  like  to  be  degrad- 
ed." 

"  The  voice  at  least  of  something  which 
was  not  love  of  pleasure ;  something  which 
the  philosopher  and  I  reckon  higher,  and 
which  you  yourself  must  admit  to  be  differ- 
ent," said  Maurice. 

"  O  good  Heavens ! "  cried  Dalbrook. 
"  Quousque  venimus  ?  Does  it  require  proof 
that  there  is  something  better  in  man  than 
self-interest,  however  prudent  and  clear-sight- 
ed ;  that  the  divine  law  of  virtue  is  not  a 
drudge's  bargain,  and  her  beauty  and  omnipo- 
tent majesty  an  '  association,'  a  shadow,  the 
fable  of  a  nurse  ?  O  Prodicus !  Was  thy 


WOT  TON  REINFRED.  JQI 

4  Choice  of  Hercules '  written  to  shame  us  ; 
that  after  twenty  centuries  of  '  perfectibil- 
ity '  are  here  still  arguing  ?  Do  you  know, 
sirs,"  added  he,  in  a  lower  tone,  "  this 
doctrine  is  the  curse  of  Europe  in  our  gen- 
eration ;  the  bane  of  all  true  greatness;  the 
root  of  sensuality,  cruelty,  and  Atheism  ? 
It  was  the  creed  of  Rome  under  Nero  and 
Caligula,  when  the  human  race  seemed  lost ; 
lost,  thank  God,  it  was  not,  and  will  not 
be!" 

"  But  on  what  motive  do  we  act  then,  or 
can  we  act  virtuously?"  said  the  atrabiliar, 
with  impatience. 

"  Possibly  on  no  motive  at  all,  in  that  sense 
of  the  word  motive,"  answered  Dalbrook. 
"  One  of  the  wisest  men  now  living  has  told 
us,  as  applied  to  art,  '  Of  what  is  wrong  we 
are  always  conscious ;  of  what  is  right,  never.' 
The  virtue  we  are  conscious  of  is  no  right 
virtue.  But,  come,"  added  he,  "  Williams  is 
smiling  incredulous,  Frank  is  suspending  me 
naso  adunco,  our  young  friends  are  wearied.  I 
move  that  we  exchange  our  wine  for  coffee, 


IO2  WOTTON  REIN  FRED. 

and  the  thorns  of  philosophy  for  the  roses  of 
beauty." 

"  One  of  the  wisest  things  you  have 
said,"  cried  Williams.  "  Will  you  lead  the 
way?" 


CHAPTER  V. 

BEFORE  parting  for  the  night  it  had  been 
settled  that  our  travellers  were  not  to  depart 
the  next  day,  or  the  next ;  an  arrangement  to 
which,  entreated  as  they  were  by  such  friend- 
ly hosts,  and  tempted  by  so  many  fair  entice- 
ments, they  had  consented  without  difficulty. 
Bernard  in  particular  was  charmed  with  the 
valley  and  its  inmates,  and  eager  to  penetrate 
still  farther  into  the  secrets  and  affections  of 
so  singular  and  gifted  a  household  ;  of  whom, 
as  was  his  way,  he  felt  ready  to  believe  all 
good.  Wotton,  again,  with  less  hope  of  the 
adventure,  had  perhaps  still  deeper  curiosity 
respecting  it.  On  retiring  to  his  room  he 
could  not  but  wonder  in  contrasting  his  pres- 
ent mood  with  the  mood  of  yesternight.  An 
unusual,  almost  painful,  excitement  had  stirred 
up  many  latent  energies,  crowds  of  confused 


IO4  WOT  TON  RE  IN  FRED. 

images  and  all  manner  of  obscure  anticipa- 
tions and  ideas  were  whirling  through  his 
mind,  the  very  basis  of  which  had  been  as- 
sailed and  shaken  ;  while  the  gorgeous  scenery, 
as  of  a  new  world  of  thought  which  he  had 
only  beheld  in  brief  dreams,  seemed  now  to 
advance  before  him  in  living  reality.  The  fig- 
ures of  the  past,  the  present,  and  future  were 
tumultuously  mingled  in  his  head  till  sleep 
sank  over  him  like  an  ambrosial  cloud,  and 
hid  him  within  dreamy  curtains  from  his  cares. 

Next  morning  he  was  on  the  hills  with 
Williams.  The  rosy  precincts  of  the  House 
in  the  Wold  were  out  of  sight,  and  the  two 
were  pretending  to  botanise.  We  say  pre- 
tending, for  neither  of  them  were  intent  on 
the  matter ;  to  Wotton,  at  least,  the  science  of 
botany  was  uninteresting,  indeed,  unknown, 
or  known  only  as  a  tedious  beadroll  of  names. 
Williams,  however,  was  a  mineralogist  also, 
and  a  pleasant,  lively  man. 

"  The  mountain  air  is  pure,"  said  he,  "  and 
the  brown  hill-tops  in  their  solitude  are  a 
pleasure  to  look  on.  We  shall  go  by  cliff  and 


WOTTON  RE  IN  FRED.  IO5 

tarn,  and  '  interrogate  Nature  '  as  well  as  any 
of  them.  Oh,"  continued  he,  "  does  it  not  do 
your  heart  good  to  think  of  Nature  being 
interrogated  ?  To  see  some  innocent  little 
whipster,  with  a  couple  of  crucibles,  and  pith- 
balls,  and  other  like  small  gear,  setting  forth 
in  such  gaiety  of  spirit  to  cross-question  Na- 
ture. By  heaven  !  I  think  Nature  must  be 
the  queen  of  dolts  if  she  don't  bamboozle 
him !  " 

"  The  Book  of  Nature,"  said  Wotton,  "  is 
written  in  such  strange  intertwisted  charac- 
ters, that  you  may  spell  from  among  them  a 
few  words  in  any  alphabet,  but  to  read  the 
whole  is  for  omniscience  alone." 

"  So  each  walks  by  his  own  hornbook," 
said  the  other ;  "  and  whatever  contradicts 
the  hornbook  is  no  letter  but  a  flourish.  As 
the  fool  thinks,  the  bell  clinks,  our  adage  says  ; 
and  so  it  is  here  as  well  as  elsewhere." 

However,  it  was  not  to  interrogate  Nature 
that  Wotton  chiefly  wanted ;  but,  rather,  to 
interrogate  his  new  acquaintance  on  matters 
nearer  home. 


106  WOT  TON  RE  IN  FRED. 

"  I  may  confess  to  you,"  said  he,  "  I  am  in 
no  scientific  mood  at  present.  The  sudden 
change  of  my  scene  confuses  so  young  a  trav- 
eller; indeed,  this  House  of  the  Wold  is  still 
a  riddle  to  me ;  and  of  much  that  I  saw  and 
heard  last  night,  I  knew  not  and  yet  know  not 
what  to  make.  Will  you  give  me  a  little 
light,  for  I  am  wandering  in  dark  labyrinths  ? 
Among  all  our  philosophers  there  was  none 
whom  I  so  well  understood  and  sympathised 
with  as  yourself.  Can  you  explain  to  me  what 
manner  of  persons  I  am  got  among,  that  so 
kindly  welcome  me,  and  instruct  me  in  such 
wondrous  doctrine  ?  " 

"  Willingly,"  cried  his  companion,  "  so  far 
as  may  be ;  but  I  myself  am  only  a  purblind 
guide,  so  have  a  care  that  we  do  not  both  fall 
into  the  ditch.  You  say  truly,  this  House  in 
the  Wold  is  a  riddle ;  we  are  altogether  a  sur- 
prising household,  varying  from  week  to  week 
as  visitors  arrive  and  go,  yet  still  differing 
from  all  other  earthly  households.  Come 
when  you  will,  you  shall  find  a  circle  of  origi- 
nals assembled  here ;  the  strangest  mortals 


WOT  TON  REIN  FRED. 

with  the  strangest  purposes,  attracted  as  by 
magnetic  virtue  to  the  place ;  in  figuration 
still  you  might  think  Proteus  was  returned  to 
the  world,  and  had  driven  all  his  flock  to  visit 
the  lofty  mountains,  as  in  the  era  of  Deuca- 
lion. Artists,  poets,  sciolists,  sages,  men  of 
science,  men  of  letters,  politicians,  statesmen, 
pedagogues,  all  find  place  ;  one  only  condition 
is  required,  so  far  as  I  can  see :  that  the  man 
be  something,  and  this  something  with  a  cer- 
tain honesty  of  mind ;  for  knaves  and  scoun- 
drels of  the  most  amusing  cast  I  have  known 
ere  now  packed  off  decisively  enough. 

"  But  to  particulars !  And  first  o'  the  first. 
Our  noble  hosts  are  persons  whom,  however 
we  may  wonder  at,  no  one  that  knows  them 
can  speak  of  without  reverence.  Maurice  Her- 
bert is  by  possession  and  descent  the  sover- 
eign of  this  quarter  of  the  mountains ;  a  man 
naturally  of  talent,  generosity,  and  resolution, 
whom  a  life  of  various  activity,  not  unmixed 
with  suffering,  has  moulded  into  a  character 
of  singular  composure  and  humanity.  You 
will  find  him  well  and  universally  informed  ; 


108  WOT  TON  REIN 'FR 'ED. 

polished  by  intercourse  with  court  and  camp; 
lor  he  has  seen  the  world  under  both  these 
aspects ;  indeed,  his  natural  endowments  and 
connections  seemed  to  appoint  him  as  if  from 
birth  for  public  life ;  but  his  philosophic 
tastes,  joined  to  a  certain  almost  haughty  in- 
flexibility of  spirit,  and  also,  I  believe,  to  some 
cruel  domestic  afflictions,  soon  drove  him  back 
into  retirement.  His  lady  and  he  have  been 
wedded  some  twenty  years,  most  part  of 
which  they  have  passed  in  this  valley.  They 
have  no  children  ;  at  least  they  are  now  child- 
less ;  though  thereby  hangs  some  secret,  for  a 
tale  goes  of  one  child  having  been  mysteri- 
ously stolen  from  them  while  abroad ;  but  on 
this  subject  you  shall  never  hear  them  speak, 
nor  is  it  safe  to  question  them.  For  the  pres- 
ent they  may  be  said  to  live,  or,  at  least,  to 
endeavour  to  live,  in  the  element  of  intellect 
and  well-doing ;  their  hospitable  house  is  open 
to  all  good  men ;  persons  of  culture,  and  still 
more  of  any  worthy  purpose  or  decided  ca- 
pacity, they  study  to  attract  and  forward  by 
all  kind  appliances,  of  which,  with  such  ample 


WOT  TON  REIN  FRED. 

means,  there  are  many  in  their  power.  With 
the  neighbouring  gentry,  all  this  passes  for 
quixotic  or  even  hypocritical ;  nor  will  I  deny, 
such  is  the  imperfection  of  human  things,  that 
a  certain  spicing  of  vainglory  mingles  with  so 
much  benevolence ;  but  who  would  quarrel 
with  goodness  because  it  is  not  perfection  ? 
If  Maurice  Herbert  cannot  claim  the  praise 
of  charity  and  active  public  spirit,  there  are 
few  men  in  England  who  will  deserve  it.  Far 
and  wide  he  goes  and  sends  and  gives  in  fur- 
therance of  all  improvement  and  useful  enter- 
prise ;  making  this,  indeed,  his  occupation,  the 
chosen  business  of  his  life.  To-day,  for  in- 
stance, he  is  out  with  your  friend  Bernard ; 
if  I  mistook  not,  there  was  something  in  the 
wind.  It  is  true,  there  can  no  Utopia  be  real- 
ised on  earth,  and  many  a  time  the  pure  ele- 
ment in  which  a  man  like  Maurice  moves  and 
works,  will  be  polluted  by  baser  admixtures  ; 
but  for  constancy  of  generous  endeavour,  nay, 
I  may  add  for  real  importance  of  result,  his 
manner  of  existence  is  to  be  applauded  and 
prized." 


HO  WOT  TON  REINFRED. 

"  But  does  he  believe  in  Dalbrook's  mysti- 
cism?" inquired  Wotton. 

"  That  he  believes  I  should  somewhat 
doubt,  though  he  constantly  defends  it.  But 
he  has  a  love  for  all  high  things,  and  no  dark- 
ness or  exaggeration  can  utterly  destroy  his 
favour  for  them.  What  his  own  opinions  are 
you  will  find  it  difficult  to  learn,  for  he  sel- 
dom contradicts  and  never  dogmatises,  having 
boundless  tolerance  for  honest  speculation, 
and  being  himself  singularly  uncontrollable 
in  thought  as  well  as  purpose.  Indeed,  the 
grand  feature  of  his  mind  and  conduct  is 
this  same  vigour  of  will  ;  for  meek  as  you 
will  always  see  him,  Maurice  is  an  auto- 
crat over  himself ;  whatever  lies  within  his 
sphere  must  be  mastered,  cost  what  it  may. 
It  is  thus  that  .he  has  retired  from  the 
world  of  politics  and  fashion  to  a  world  of 
his  own.  In  morals,  also,  he  is  a  sort  of 
Stoic,  and  naturally,  for  he  enjoys  little  hap- 
piness and  hopes  little — at  least,  so  in  spite 
of  his  equanimity,  I  have  many  times  sus- 
pected. To  such  a  mind  that  subtle  doc- 


WOT  TON  RE  IN  FRED.  !  j  r 

trine  of  the  summum  bonum  may  not  be  so 
foreign." 

"  A  goodly  gentleman,"  said  Wotton,  "  you 
have  shown  me,  and  one  whom  it  were  a  pride 
and  pleasure  to  belong  to.  But  now  what  of 
this  philosopher,  this  mystic  Dalbrook  ?  Am 
I  to  think  him  fatuous  or  inspired  ?  What 
with  his  truth  and  happiness,  what  with  his 
understanding  and  his  reason,  my  wits  are  al- 
together muddled." 

"I  cannot  wonder,"  said  Williams,  "the 
man  does  generally  pass  for  mad,  and  some- 
times I  fear  he  will  infect  us  all.  For  really, 
if  you  watch  him,  there  is  curious  method  in 
his  madness,  and  that  huge  whirlpool  of  a 
mind,  with  its  thousand  eddies  and  unfathom- 
able caverns,  is  a  kind  of  mahlstrom  you  were 
better  not  to  look  on  lest  it  swallowed  you, 
unless,  indeed,  you  first  cast  anchor  at  a  safe 
distance,  which  I  have  now  learned  to  do. 
Good  heavens,  how  he  talks !  The  whole  day 
long,  if  you  do  not  check  him,  he  will  pour 
forth  floods  of  speech,  and  the  richest,  noblest 
speech,  only  that  you  find  no  purpose,  tend- 


1 1 2  WO  TTON  REINFRED. 

ency,  or  meaning  in  it !  A  universal  hubbub, 
wild  it  seems  to  you,  with  touches  of  seraphic 
melody  flitting  through  the  boundless,  aimless 
din  of  anarchy  itself. 

"  On  the  whole,  I  will  confess  to  you,  I  can- 
not rightly  understand  this  Dalbrook.  Ab- 
surdities innumerable  I  might  laugh  at  in  him, 
but  I  see  not  rightly  how  his  folly  is  related 
to  his  wisdom.  Such  discord  may  in  part  be 
harmony  not  understood.  He  is  undoubtedly 
a  man  of  wonderful  gifts,  acquirements  almost 
universal,  of  generous  feelings,  too;  on  the 
whole  a  splendid  nature,  yet  strangely  out  of 
union  with  itself,  and  so  alloyed  with  incon- 
sistencies that  in  action  it  is  good  for  nothing, 
and  with  its  vast  bulk  revolves  rather  than 
advances.  His  very  speech  displays  imbe- 
cility of  will ;  he  does  not  talk  with  you  but 
preaches  to  you ;  his  thoughts  are  master  of 
him,  not  he  of  them.  Accordingly,  with  all 
his  fine  endowments  he  has  effected  little, 
scarcely  even  the  first  problem  of  philosophy, 
an  -independent  living.  Maurice  loves  and 
honours  him,  else  matters  would  go  hard.  In 


WOT  TON  REINFRED.  nj 

fact,  the  man  has  an  unspeakable  aversion  to 
pain  in  all  shapes,  and  among  the  rest  to  la- 
bour ;  this,  I  take  it,  is  the  secret  of  his  char- 
acter. With  the  loftiest  idea  of  what  is  to  be 
done,  he  does  and  feels  that  he  can  do  noth- 
ing ;  hence  a  dreary  contradiction  in  his  life, 
a  constant  self-reproach,  and  to  help  himself 
he  only  talks  the  more.  In  this  way  I  inter- 
pret his  exaggerated  schemes  of  virtue,  his 
misty  generalities  in  science,  the  whole  dreamy 
world  where  his  mind  so  likes  to  live.  Poor 
Dalbrook!  He  was  made  to  be  a  Brahman 
or  a  Gnostic,  and  he  found  himself  an  unap- 
pointed  English  scholar,  and  the  task  of  living 
would  not  prosper  with  him.  Much  he  talks 
of  writing  and  teaching,  and  day  after  day  he 
reads  all  manner  of  supernatural  metaphysics 
and  the  like  ;  but  what  will  it  come  to  ?  And 
yet  it  is  a  thousand  pities,  for  there  is  finest 
gold  in  him  if  it  could  be  parted  from  the 
dross." 

"  How  does  his  practice  correspond  with 
his  stoical  theories  of  virtue  and  happiness  ?  " 
inquired  Wotton. 


114  WOT  TON  RE  IN  FRED. 

"  Indifferently,"  answered  Williams ;  "  idle- 
ness is  no  propitious  soil  for  virtue,  and,  as  we 
have  seen,  he  cannot  work.  With  all  his  gen- 
erous humanity  in  the  gross,  you  shall  often 
find  him  spiteful  and  selfish  in  detail.  Mean 
men  have  obtained  preferment,  and  he  is  un- 
preferred ;  then  while  he  despises  them,  he 
cannot  help  half  envying.  The  world  has 
used  him  ill,  and  he  has  no  stronghold  of  his 
own  where  he  might  abide  its  shocks  in  peace, 
nay,  love  it,  pitiful  as  it  is ;  but  wages  a  sort 
of  Bedouin  warfare  with  its  arrangements ;  an 
employment  in  which  no  one  can  appear  to 
advantage.  Yet  certainly  he  wishes  to  do 
well ;  and  his  sins  are  of  omission  not  commis- 
sion. Let  us  pity  the  good  philosopher !  He 
was  made  for  a  better  world  than  ours,  and 
only  in  the  Heaven,  where  he  looks  to  arrive, 
can  his  fine  spirit  be  itself. 

"  But  now,"  continued  he,  "  I  must  speak 
of  Burridge  whom  you  poisoned  last  night 
with  arsenic.  Frank,  in  spite  of  his  atrabiliar 
philosophy,  is  no  bad  fellow  ;  his  liver,  I  be- 
lieve, is  wrong,  but  his  heart  is  not.  A  man 


WOTTON  REIN  FRED.  ng 

of  birth  and  wealth,  with  sense  enough  to  see 
what  is  wrong,  but  scarcely  what  is  right,  sits 
in  Parliament  legislating  after  the  manner  of 
an  English  squire ;  hunts  at  home  or  abroad 
when  he  is  not  voting ;  believes  in  Hume ; 
curses  the  badness  of  the  weather,  the  villainy 
of  men,  the  derangement  of  the  universe  at 
large ;  yet,  strange  enough,  feels  withal  that 
he  must  vote  with  ministers,  and  Church  and 
State  be  supported  ;  both  are  false,  but  bad 
might  be  worse.  A  Manichean  I  might  call 
him,  or  rather  an  Arima'sian,  for  in  theory  his 
sole  God  is  the  devil,  since  he  worships  noth- 
ing but  necessity  ;  yet  such  are  the  contradic- 
tions of  human  nature,  you  shall  meet  few 
better  men  than  this  same  Burridge  with  the 
basest  creed ;  just,  frank,  true-hearted  to  a 
proverb,  nay,  as  occasion  offers,  generous  if 
not  benevolent,  his  life  puts  to  shame  many 
high-sounding  professors,  and  shows  what 
metal  there  must  be  in  English  character  that 
can  resist  such  calcination,  and  still  be  metal. 
Frank  is  a  contradiction ;  he  piques  you  into 
loving  him." 


Il6  WOT  TON  REIN  FRED. 

"  Maurice  called  him  cousin,"  said  Wotton. 

"  They  are  related,  I  believe,  but  chiefly 
by  old  acquaintance,  nay,  on  Frank's  side,  I 
might  almost  say  discipleship ;  he  reverences 
Maurice,  asks  his  counsel,  and  in  all  domestic 
arrangements  walks  by  his  light.  Every  sum- 
mer he  is  here  with  his  household ;  his  son, 
the  Huchesonian  philosopher,  you  saw  last 
night ;  his  lady  and  his  nephew  are  expected 
to-morrow ;  they  are  on  a  visit  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, whither  Frank  would  not  attend 
them.  You  will  mark  his  nephew,  a  fellow  of 
some  substance,  for  good  or  evil,  I  know  too 
little  of  him  to  say  for  which." 

"  Is  he  a  scholar  too  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nowise,"  said  the  other ;  "  a  man  of 
action  this,  bred  among  drums,  gunpowder, 
fire,  tempest,  and  warfare ;  he  is  a  soldier, 
every  inch  a  soldier,  has  fought  and  stormed 
across  the  world,  and  is  now  resting  with  his 
medals  and  his  laurels  and  the  rank  of  major, 
and  fair  prospects  every  way.  He  is  heir  ap- 
parent to  our  landlord,  I  believe,  though 
Maurice  does  not  seem  to  like  him  over  much, 


WOT  TON  REIN  FRED. 

a  thing  I  hardly  blame  him  for,  but  you  your- 
self shall  judge." 

"And  his  aunt?"  inquired  Wotton. 

"A  faded  dame  of  quality,  who  will  not  recol- 
lect  that  autumn  is  no  summer.  She  has  been 
fascinating  once,  nay,  is  so  still,  for  she  is  lively, 
clever,  and  by  help  of  the  toilette  even  pretty. 
She  has  some  real  virtues,  and  many  graces ; 
but  if  old  age  overtake  her,  as  is  like  it  must, 
she  will  surely  go  distracted,  unless,  indeed, 
she  take  to  saintship  or  bluism  which  is  worse." 

"  You  are  no  friend  to  Blues,  then  ?  " 

"  I  profess  a  kind  of  enmity  to  cant,  wher- 
ever I  may  find  it,  but  on  the  whole  I  think 
the  poor  Blues  have  hard  measure  among  us." 

"  We  forgive  the  fashionable  woman  many 
follies  while  she  courts  distinction  in  the 
sphere  of  common  vanity ;  why  should  we 
refuse  a  similar  tolerance  to  folly  in  the 
sphere  of  literature  ?  The  motive  is  the  same 
in  both  cases,  self-conceit,  and  undue  love  of 
praise,  while  the  means  in  the  latter  case  are 
often  the  more  innocent." 

"  After  all,"   said  Williams,  "  cant   is   the 


1 1 8  WO  TTEN  RE  IN  FRED. 

great  cosmetic  and  enamel  of  existence,  the 
cheap  and  sovereign  alchemy  for  making 
crooked  things  straight  and  rough  places 
plain  ;  why  should  I  quarrel  with  it,  I  that 
need  it  so  much  myself,  nay,  so  many  times 
am  forced  to  use  it?" 

"  You  ?  "  said  Wotton  ;  "  surely  of  all  the 
men  I  have  ever  met  with,  you  seem  the  most 
free  from  cant." 

"  Ah !  how  little  you  know  of  it,"  replied 
the  other ;  "  few  can  avow  distinctly  to  them- 
selves what  they  are  aiming  at,  can  weigh  in 
a  fair  balance  the  worthlessness  of  their  whole 
craft  and  mystery,  and  see  without  blinking 
what  pitiful  knaves  they  are.  It  goes  against 
the  grain  with  one  to  feel  that  with  incessant 
bustle,  he  is  doing  nothing  but  digest  his 
victuals  !  Many  a  time  when  I  leave  our 
chancery  court,  and  find  three  bushels  of 
briefs  piled  up  on  my  table,  I  say  to  myself : 
'  Well,  Jack,  thou  art  a  man  useful  in  thy  day 
and  generation,  here  is  much  gall  peaceably 
evaporated,  much  wrong  prevented ;  law  is  a 
noble  science  ! '  instead  of  saying :  '  Well, 


WOT  TON  RE  IN  FRED, 

Jack,  thou  art  a  man  lucky  in  thy  day  and 
generation,  here  is  much  corn  and  wine  con- 
verted into  ink,  much  right  delayed,  law  is  a 
sleek  milk-cow  whence  thou  hast  thy  living.' 
And  so  it  is  with  most  trades  that  men  trade 
in  under  the  sun.  If  you  viewed  them  with- 
out magnifiers  you  would  find  that  the  result 
was  much  the  same.  Life  is  a  huge  treadmill, 
if  you  don't  step  forward  they  trample  you  to 
jelly,  and  if  you  do  step  forward  for  a  century, 
you  are  exactly  where  you  started.  Good 
Cant !  Now  she  tells  us  this  is  a  journey  to- 
wards a  noble  goal  with  prospects  of  this  and 
that  on  the  right  and  left ;  it  is  a  journey  as  I 
tell  you.  Long  life  to  Cant!  if  it  were  not 
she,  we  might  hang  and  drown  ourselves, 
and  with  her  one  can  live  in  surprising  com- 
fort." 

The  conversation  of  his  new  acquaintance 
could  not  but  amuse  our  hero,  however  little 
it  might  satisfy  him. 

To  be  spoken  to  with  such  attention,  and 
so  confidentially  treated  by  a  man  of  influence 
and  talent  was  in  itself  gratifying,  and  still 


I2O  WOTTON  REINFRED. 

more  so  by  its  rarity  in  Wotton's  previous 
experience ;  for  it  was  seldom  that  his  hap 
had  led  in  the  way  of  such  people,  and  much 
seldomer  that  he  had  found  them  so  divested 
of  vanity  as  to  give  their  minds  free  play  and 
forget  in  his  presence  that  he  being  little  and 
they  being  great,  it  behoved  them  to  trample 
on  him,  or  at  least  to  astonish  and  overawe 
him.  Williams  was  none  of  those  painful  per- 
sons ;  he  cared  too  little  about  anything  on 
earth  to  vex  himself  or  others  for  it ;  the  basis 
of  his  philosophy  was  :  Live  and  let  live. 
With  a  gay  kind  guileless  heart,  and  the  clear- 
est and  sprightliest  perceptions,  he  was  the 
most  attractive  of  all  unbelievers.  Intelli- 
gence and  courteous  pleasantry  sparkled  in 
his  eyes ;  he  was  of  quick  sensation,  yet  not 
irritable,  never  deliberately  vindictive  ;  for 
nature  had  so  blandly  tempered  him,  that  he 
could  wish  no  injury  to  any  living  thing. 
Without  effort,  he  habitually  forgot  self  and 
the  little  concerns  of  self,  and  mingled  with 
trustful  entireness  in  the  feelings  of  the  place 
and  hour,  even  while  his  judgment  despised 


WOT  TON  RE  IN  FRED.  I2I 

them.  Nothing  could  be  kindlier  than  his  con- 
tempt, which  indeed  extended  far  and  wide, 
embracing  with  a  few  momentary  exceptions 
the  whole  actions  and  character  of  man,  his 
own  not  excluded,  nay  rather  placed  in  the 
foremost  rank  of  pettiness.  For  moral  good- 
ness and  poetical  beauty,  save  only  as  pleasur- 
able sensations,  he  had  no  name ;  yet  few  men 
had  a  keener  feeling  or  a  better  practical  re- 
gard for  both ;  he  was  merciful  and  generous, 
he  knew  not  why ;  and  a  great  character,  a 
fine  action,  a  sublime  image  or  thought  struck 
through  his  inmost  being,  and  for  an  instant 
gleaming  in  every  feature  with  ethereal  light, 
the  gay  sceptic  had  become  a  worshipper  and 
a  rapt  enthusiast.  These,  however,  were  but 
momentary  glows,  reflexes  of  a  strange  glory 
from  a  world  which  he  had  never  dwelt  in, 
which  he  knew  not,  and  soon  lost  in  the  ele- 
ment of  quiet  kindly  derision  and  denial  where 
he  lived  and  moved.  They  consorted  ill  with 
his  philosophy  of  life,  and  might  have  made 
him  doubt  it,  had  he  taken  time  to  search  it  to 
the  bottom ;  but  time  was  wanting  in  his  busy 


122  WOT  TON  REIN  FRED. 

sphere;  jostling  for  ever  among  selfish  men 
and  their  pursuits,  he  believed  as  they  be- 
lieved, and  such  contradictions  pleasant  or 
painful  with  which  his  own  kinder  nature  now 
and  then  warned  him  of  his  error  he  heeded 
little,  or  loosely  referred  to  that  unknown 
infinitude  which  encircles  all  human  under- 
standing, mocking  it  with  phantasms  and  in- 
scrutable paradoxes  which,  thought  Williams, 
he  is  wisest  who  heeds  least.  In  this  way  had 
the  man  grown  up  to  middle  age,  the  light 
and  not  unlovely  product  of  benignant  nature 
striving  with  perverted  culture,  professedly  a 
sceptic,  unconsciously  a  believer  and  bene- 
factor :  all  men  wished  him  well,  and  if  more 
serious  critics  missed  in  Williams  any  earnest- 
ness and  true  manliness  of  purpose,  they  too 
were  often  captivated  in  his  gay  fascinations, 
and  forced  to  prize  him  as  a  thing  if  not  as  a 
man,  and  to  like  if  they  could  not  love  him. 

In  manifold  narration  and  discussion  the 
hours  passed  swiftly  on,  till  without  singular 
advancement  to  the  science  either  of  botany 
or  mineralogy,  but  with  the  consciousness  of 


WOTTON  REINFRED.  123 

having  spent  a  pleasant  day,  our  two  friends 
found  themselves  again  descending  into  their 
hospitable  valley,  under  some  fear  of  being 
stayed  for  by  their  company.  Burridge  had 
caught  several  wonder-worthy  fishes ;  his  son 
had  been  listening  to  Dalbrook  lecturing  un- 
der the  elm-rows  and  shady  garden-walks,  as 
in  the  groves  of  a  new  Academe ;  Bernard 
and  Maurice  were  returned  from  a  visit  in 
some  neighbouring  valley.  All  seemed  con- 
tented with  their  morning's  work  ;  the  Lady 
Dorothy  with  her  two  fair  secretaries,  studi- 
ous like  her  of  household  good,  found  that 
they  had  laboured  for  no  unthankful  guests. 

On  this  occasion,  it  was  moved  and  agreed 
that  the  party  should  withdraw  with  their 
wine  and  coffee  to  the  garden-house,  not  quit- 
ting the  dames,  whose  harps  and  melodious 
voices  were  to  heighten  and  as  it  were  vivify 
with  music  the  other  charms  of  a  scene  and 
evening  so  lovely.  Embowered  in  the  richest 
foliage,  in  front  of  them  the  fair  alternation  of 
lawn  and  thicket,  of  bush  and  fruit-tree,  and 
many-coloured  flower-bed,  stretching  far  and 


124  WOT  TON  REIN  FRED. 

wide,  cut  with  long  winding  walks,  in  mellow 
light,  and  silent,  save  when  from  his  green 
spray  the  thrush  or  blackbird  was  pouring  his 
gushes  of  harmony  in  many  a  linked  bout, 
around  them  towering  clusters  of  roses,  and 
the  hues  and  odours  of  a  thousand  flowers,  and 
beyond  all,  in  the  remote  distance,  the  slopes 
and  peaks  of  the  mountains  sparkling  in  the 
glow  of  evening,  our  friends  were  soon  socia- 
bly seated  in  their  little  garden-house,  the 
front  of  which  had  been  thrown  open  to  admit 
so  many  kindly  influences. 

In  such  hours,  when  all  is  invitation  to 
peace  and  gladness,  the  soul  expands  with  full 
freedom,  man  feels  himself  brought  nearer  to 
man,  and  the  narrowest  hypochondriac  is 
charmed  from  his  selfish  seclusion  and  sur- 
prised by  the  pleasure  of  unwonted  sympathy 
with  nature  and  his  brethren.  Gaily  in  light 
graceful  abandonment  and  touches  of  careless 
felicity,  the  friendly  talk  played  round  the 
table  ;  each  said  what  he  liked  without  fear 
that  others  might  dislike  it,  for  the  burden 
was  rolled  from  every  heart ;  the  barriers  of 


WOT  TON  REIN  FRED.  I25 

ceremony,  which  are  indeed  the  laws  of  polite 
living,  melted  into  vapour,  and  the  poor  claims 
of  me  and  thee,  no  longer  parted  and  enclosed 
by  rigid  lines,  flowed  softly  into  each  other ; 
and  life  lay  like  some  fair  unappropriated 
champaign,  variegated  indeed  with  many  tints, 
but  all  these  mingling  by  gentle  undulations, 
by  imperceptible  shadings,  and  all  combining 
into  one  harmonious  whole.  Such  virtue  has 
a  kind  environment  of  circumstances  over 
cultivated  hearts.  And  yet  as  the  light  grew 
yellower  and  purer  on  the  mountain  tops,  and 
the  shadows  of  these  stately  scattered  trees 
fell  longer  over  the  valley,  some  faint  tone  of 
sadness  may  have  breathed  through  the  heart, 
and  in  whispers  more  or  less  audible  reminded 
every  one  by  natural  similitude,  that  as  this 
bright  day  was  coming  towards  its  close,  so 
also  must  the  day  of  man's  existence  decline 
into  dusk  and  darkness,  and  the  night  come, 
wherein  all  image  of  its  joy  and  woe  would 
pass  away  and  be  forgotten. 

In  the  fair  Anna  at  least,  we  cannot  but 

suspect  the  presence  of  some  such  intrusive 
9 


126  WOTTON  REIN  FRED. 

thought,  for  by  degrees  she  had  withdrawn 
her  contribution,  nay  her  interest  from  the 
conversation ;  her  look,  still  and  pensive,  was 
lost  in  the  remote  landscape ;  it  seemed  as  if 
in  the  long  eyelashes  a  tear  were  trembling. 
It  was  her  turn  to  sing  ;  she  started  from  her 
reverie,  flung  her  hand  hastily  over  the  harp- 
strings,  and  after  short  preluding  in  a  melody 
half  longing  and  plaintive,  half  sad  and  con- 
temptuous, thus  began : 

What  is  Hope  ?    A  golden  rainbow,  etc. 

All  listened  with  attention,  and  still  for  a 
few  instants  after  the  music  ceased  there  was 
silence,  while  the  fair  singer,  glancing  rapidly 
between  tears  and  smiles  over  the  company, 
then  hung  down  her  head,  and  seemed  busy 
rectifying  some  error  with  her  strings. 

"  Surely,  my  good  Anne,"  said  Williams, 
"  you  mean  not  as  you  sing ;  these  dismal 
quatrains  are  fitter  for  a  lykewake  than  to 
greet  so  fair  a  banquet,  amid  sunshine  and 
roses,  and  plenty  of  brave  young  gallants  to 
boot ! " 


WOTTON  RE  IN  FRED. 

"  Women  go  by  the  rule  of  contraries," 
answered  the  lady,  with  a  smile,  but  rather 
of  concealment  than  of  gladness.  "  Do  you 
know,"  added  she,  "  I  have  work  within  doors, 
and  must  beg  the  fair  banquet's  pardon,  sun- 
shine and  roses  and  brave  gallants,  young  or 
old,  notwithstanding.  My  blessing  with  you 
all ! "  cried  she,  tripping  through  the  bushes 
towards  the  house,  and  making  signs  that  she 
was  not  to  be  followed. 

"  A  strange  young  lady,"  said  Burridge, 
"  and  more  full  of  crotchets  than  ever." 

"  But  did  you  like  her  song  ?  "  inquired 
Dorothy.  "  Was  it  not  in  the  spirit  of  your 
own  bitter  creed,  cousin  ?  Why  the  rhymer 
may  have  meant  not  ill ;  the  spirit  as  you  say 
was  willing  but  the  flesh  was  weak.  There  is 
no  pith  in  this  balladmonger ;  his  wires  are 
slack  and  have  a  husky  jingle.  Besides,  I 
doubt  he  is  an  imitator." 

"  Neither  is  the  spirit  of  his  verse  unex- 
ceptionable," said  Williams.  "  His  is  a  con- 
clusion in  which  nothing  emphatically  is  con- 
cluded, save  perhaps  our  old  friend  the  bag 


I28  WOT  TON  REIN  FRED. 

of  arsenic,  Frank !  Really  one  tires  of  your 
death's  head  when  it  grins  at  one  too  long. 
This  sweet  singer,  as  you  hint,  is  but  a  faint 
echo  of  Lord  Byron." 

"  Say  rather  of  the  general  tone  of  our 
time,"  observed  Maurice.  "  Lord  Byron  was 
the  loudest  harper,  but  not  the  first  or  the 
best  of  this  arsenical  school.  The  keynote  was 
struck  in  Goethe's  Werther,  and  Europe  has 
rung  ever  since  with  the  tune  and  its  vari- 
ations." 

"  It  is  the  want  of  the  age,"  said  Wotton. 
"  Thousands  on  thousands  feel  as  Byron  felt ; 
and  his  passionate  voicing  of  emotions  hitherto 
shapeless  and  crushing  with  a  force  vague 
and  invisible  was  a  relief  to  the  heart  that 
could  not  speak  them.  He  was  a  spirit  of 
Heaven,  though  cast  down  into  the  abyss  ; 
and  his  song,  like  that  singing  of  the  fallen 
seraphs, 

1  was  partial,  but  the  harmony 
(What  could  it  less  when  Spirits  immortal  sing  ?) 
Suspended  Hell,  and  took  with  ravishment 
The  thronging  audience.' " 


WOT  TON  REIN  FRED. 

"An  apt  enough  allusion,"  said  Maurice, 
"  for  the  unbelief  of  men,  their  sickly  sensi- 
tiveness and  vociferous  craving  for  enjoyment, 
have  made  the  world  a  sort  of  hell  for  every 
noble  nature  that  is  not  delivered  from  the 
baleful  greed  of  the  day.  Our  longing  is  to- 
wards the  Infinite  and  Invisible :  but  for  these 
our  time  has  no  symbol ;  nay,  rather  it  denies 
their  existence ;  substituting  in  their  stead  the 
shadows  and  reflections  of  a  merely  sensual 
and  mechanic  philosophy ;  and  thus  the  high- 
est faculties  of  the  spirit  are  shut  up  in  pain- 
ful durance,  or  directed  into  false  activity; 
thought  cannot  be  converted  into  deed  ;  what 
should  have  been  worship  and  blessing  be- 
comes idolatry  and  malediction;  for  Self  is  a 
false  God,  and  his  rites  are  cruel,  and  end  in 
the  destruction  of  his  votaries." 

"  Moloch  and  Juggernaut,"  said  Dalbrook, 
"  could  but  kill  the  body ;  but  this,  with  long 
doleful  agonies,  or  worse,  with  craftier  opiate 
poisons,  kills  the  soul." 

"  But  surely,"  said  Dorothy,  "  there  is  a 
truer  poetry  possible  even  for  us  than  this 


WOTTON  REIN  FRED. 

frightful  sort,  which  is  built  not  on  love  but 
on  hatred,  and  for  all  the  wounds  of  humanity 
acknowledges  no  balm  but  pride." 

"  Which  is  a  caustic,  and  no  balm ;  may 
corrode  but  cannot  cure,"  added  Bernard. 

"  O  call  not  by  the  name  of  poetry,"  cried 
Dalbrook,  "  such  fierce  disharmony,  which  is 
but  infuriated  not  inspired !  The  essence  of 
poetry  is  love  and  peace,  but  here  is  only  rage 
and  disdain.  Is  the  poet  gifted  with  a  finer 
sense  only  to  feel  with  double  anguish  the 
stings  of  pain?  Was  his  creative  faculty  be- 
stowed on  him  to  image  forth  and  falsely 
ornament  deformity  and  contradiction  ?  Is  it 
he  that  should  mistake  the  discords  of  the 
poor  imperfect  part  for  the  diapason  of  the 
glorious  all,  and  hear  no  fairer  music  in  this 
symphony  of  the  creation  than  the  echoes  of 
his  own  complaining  ?  must  he  hover  through 
existence,  not  like  a  bird  of  paradise,  feeding 
on  flowers,  nay  sleeping  with  outstretched 
wings  in  middle  air,  but  like  a  hungry  vulture, 
searching  for  the  carrion  of  selfish  pleasure, 
and  shrieking  with  baleful  cry  when  he  does 


WOTTON  REINFRED.  131 

not  find  it?  Shame  on  us!  When  the  very 
high  priests  in  this  solemn  temple  of  the  uni- 
verse have  become  blasphemers,  when  they 
deny  their  God,  and  love  not  the  worship  but 
the  incense !  " 

"  Bravely  said,  philosopher !  "  cried  Bur- 
ridge.  "  With  your  rhetoric  you  might  per- 
suade one  that  black  was  white  ;  but  we  must 
not  let  your  figures  of  speech  mislead  us.  If 
people  do  feel  in  pain,  and  vexed  with  these 
same  discords,  how  can  they  help  it,  and  help 
complaining  of  it  ?  What  is  your  glorious  all 
which  lies  far  enough  away,  when  a  man  has 
got  a  scurvy  fraction  for  his  own  whole  allot- 
ment, and  can  draw  from  it  neither  sense  nor 
profit,  but  only  trouble  and  grief  for  his  life 
long  ?  Was  it  the  poor  soul's  own  blame  that 
he  came  no  better  off ;  or  must  he  be  denied 
the  small  privilege  of  complaining  ?  And  is 
he  not  obliged  to  the  poet,  who  utters  for  him 
in  soul-subduing  melodies,  a  feeling  which  in 
his  own  mouth  would  have  sounded  harsh 
and  trivial  ?  " 

"  If  untrue,  it  could  not  sound  too  harsh 


1^2  WOT  TON  RE  IN  FRED. 

or  be  too  little  heeded,"  observed  Mau- 
rice. 

"  Nay,  but  true  or  untrue,"  cried  Williams, 
"  it  is  the  general  feeling  of  mankind  at  pres- 
ent, and  will  express  itself  in  spite  of  us. 
Now  the  poet  is  a  citizen  of  his  age  as  well  as 
of  his  country.  It  is  his  proper  nature  to  feel 
with  double  force  all  that  other  men  feel,  as 
to  give  this  back  with  double  force,  ennobled 
and  transfigured  into  beauty,  is  his  proper 
business." 

"  There  are  many  things  men  feel,"  said 
Maurice,  "  which  he  should  suppress  and  war 
against,  for  he  has  no  alchemy  which  can  so 
transfigure  them.  If  his  age  is  worthless  and 
sunk,  he  must  make  for  himself  another;  let 
him  strive  to  change  his  degraded  brethren 
into  his  noble  likeness,  not  deface  himself  into 
theirs." 

"  But  the  means,"  said  Williams. 

"  By  deep  worship  of  truth  and  a  generous 
scorn  of  falsehood,  however  popular  and  pat- 
ronised. Let  no  momentary  show  of  things 
divert  him  from  their  essence.  Let  him  not 


WOT  TON  REIN  FRED.  ^3 

look  to  the  idols  of  the  time,  but  to  the  pure 
ideal  of  his  own  spirit ;  let  him  listen  not  to 
the  clamours  and  contradictions  from  with- 
out, but  to  the  harmonious  unison  from 
within." 

"  And  how  will  the  time  relish  this  ?  "  said 
Burridge. 

"  Badly,  it  may  be,"  answered  Maurice, 
"  but  all  hope  is  not  therefore  lost.  Fit  au- 
dience he  will  find  though  few,  let  him  speak 
where  he  will ;  and  if  his  words  are  sure  and 
well-ordered  they  will  last  from  age  to  age, 
and  the  hearing  ear  and  the  understanding 
heart  will  not  be  wanting.  Cast  thy  bread  upon 
the  waters,  thou  shalt  find  it  after  many  days  ! 
So  it  is  with  true  poetry  and  all  good  and 
noble  things.  The  wheat  is  sown  amid  au- 
tumnal vapours,  and  lies  long  buried  under 
snow,  yet  the  field  waves  yellow  in  summer, 
and  the  reaper  goes  down  to  it  rejoicing." 

"Then  it  is  not  the  poet's  chief  end  to 
please  ?  "  said  Wotton. 

"  His  means  not  his  end,"  replied  Maurice ; 
"  on  the  whole,  in  art  as  in  morals,  it  seems  to 


WOTTON  REIN  FRED. 

me,  we  must  guard  ourselves  against  the  love 
of  pleasure,  which  admitted  as  a  first  principle 
may  lead  us  in  both  cases  far  astray  (at  all 
events  please  man  not  the  man.  Popularity, 
etc.)  The  first  poets  were  teachers  and  seers ; 
the  gifted  soul,  instinct  with  music,  discerned 
the  true  and  beautiful  in  nature,  and  poured 
its  bursting  fulness  in  floods  of  harmony,  en- 
trancing the  rude  sense  of  men  ;  and  song  was 
a  heavenly  voice  bearing  wisdom  irresistibly 
with  chaste  blandishments  into  every  heart." 

"  But  what  of  Homer,  or  Shakespeare  ? " 
cried  Burridge.  "  Methinks  their  science  was 
of  the  meagrest ;  what  did  they  teach  us  ?  " 

"  Much,  much,"  answered  Maurice,  "  that 
we  have  not  yet  rightly  learned.  They 
taught  us  to  know  this  world,  cousin,  and  yet 
to  love  it;  a  harder  science,  cousin,  and  a 
more  precious  than  any  chemistry  or  physics 
or  political  economy  that  we  have  studied 
since.  Look  with  their  eyes  on  man  and  life  ! 
All  its  hollowness,  and  insufficiency,  and  sin 
and  woe  are  there;  but  with  them,  nay  by 
them,  do  beauty  and  mercy  and  a  solemn 


WOT  TON  REINFRED.  i^ 

grandeur  shine  forth,  and  man  with  his  stinted 
and  painful  existence  is  no  longer  little  or 
poor,  but  lovely  and  venerable  ;  for  a  glory  of 
Infinitude  is  round  him ;  and  it  is  by  his  very 
poverty  that  he  is  rich,  and  by  his  littleness 
that  he  is  great." 

"  I  have  heard  the  poet's  spirit  likened  to 
an  Eolian  harp,"  said  Dorothy,  "  over  which 
the  common  winds  of  this  world  cannot  pass 
but  they  are  modulated  into  music,  and  even 
their  anger  and  their  moaning  become  kindly 
and  melodious." 

"Yes,"  cried  Dalbrook,  "there  dwells  in 
him  a  divine  harmony,  which  needs  but  to  be 
struck  that  it  be  awakened.  His  spirit  is  a 
spirit  of  goodness  and  brotherhood ;  anger, 
hatred,  malignity  may  not  abide  with  him,  will 
not  consort  with  his  purer  nature.  Where- 
fore should  he  envy ;  where  shall  he  find  one 
richer  than  he?  While  the  vulgar  soul,  iso- 
lated in  self,  stinted  and  ignoble  alike  in  its 
joy  and  woe,  must  build  its  narrow  home  on 
the  sand  of  accident,  and  taste  no  good  but 
what  the  winds  and  waves  of  accident  may 


WOTTON  REIN  FRED. 

bring  it,  the  poet's  home  is  on  the  everlasting 
rock  of  necessity,  the  law  which  was  before 
the  universe,  and  will  endure  after  the  uni- 
verse has  passed  away  ;  and  his  eye  and  his 
mind  range  free  and  fearless  through  the  world 
as  through  his  own  possession,  his  own  fruitful 
field  ;  for  he  is  reconciled  with  destiny,  and  in 
his  benignant  fellow-feeling  all  men  are  his 
brethren.  Nay,  are  not  time  and  space  his 
heritage,  and  the  beauty  that  is  in  them  do 
they  not  disclose  it  to  him  and  pay  it  as  their 
tribute?  What  do  I  say?  The  beauty  that 
is  in  them !  The  beauty  that  shines  through 
them !  For  time  and  space  are  modes  not 
things ;  forms  of  our  mind,  not  existences 
without  us  ;  the  shapes  in  which  the  un- 
seen bodies  itself  forth  to  our  mortal  sense ; 
if  we  were  not,  they  also  would  cease  to 
be." 

"  God  help  us !  whither  are  we  going 
now?"  cried  Burridge. 

"  It  is  in  this  unseen,"  hastily  continued 
Dalbrook,  "  that  the  poet  lives  and  has  his  be- 
ing. Yes,  he  is  a  seer,  for  to  him  the  invisible 


WOT  TON  REIN  FRED.  i^ 

glory  has  been  revealed.  Life  with  its  prizes 
and  its  failures,  its  tumult  and  its  jarring  din, 
were  a  poor  matter  in  itself ;  to  him  it  is  base- 
less, transient  and  hollow,  an  infant's  dream ; 
but  beautiful  also,  and  solemn  and  of  myste- 
rious significance.  Why  should  he  not  love  it 
and  reverence  it?  Is  not  all  visible  nature,  all 
sensible  existence  the  symbol  and  vesture  of 
the  Invisible  and  Infinite  ?  Is  it  not  in  these 
material  shows  of  things  that  God,  virtue,  im- 
mortality are  shadowed  forth  and  made  mani- 
fest to  man?  Material  nature  is  as  a  Fata-mor- 
gana,  hanging  in  the  air ;  a  cloud-picture,  but 
painted  by  the  heavenly  light;  in  itself  it  is 
air  and  nothingness,  but  behind  it  is  the  glory 
of  the  sun.  Blind  men  !  they  think  the  cloud- 
city  a  continuing  habitation,  and  the  sun  but  a 
picture  because  their  eyes  do  not  behold  him. 
It  is  only  the  invisible  that  really  is,  but  only 
the  gifted  sense  that  can  of  itself  discern  this 
reality ! " 

"  Now,  in  Heaven's  name,"  cried  Burridge, 
"  what  is  all  this  ?  Must  a  poet  become  a  mys- 
tic, and  study  Kant  before  he  can  write  verses? 


!^8  WOT  TON  REIN  FRED. 

I  declare,  philosopher,  you  are  like   to   turn 
one's  brain." 

Dalbrook  only  smiled  and  shook  his  head, 
but  Maurice  answered  :  "  Nay,  cousin,  let  us 
abide  by  things,  and  beware  of  names,  above 
all  of  nicknames,  which  are  mint-stamps,  not 
metal,  and  should  make  brass  and  pewter  pass 
for  gold  and  silver  not  among  the  wise  few 
but  among  the  simple  many.  Much  of  this 
which  you  call  Kantism  seems  but  the  more 
scientific  expression  of  what  all  true  poets  and 
thinkers,  nay,  all  good  men,  have  felt  more  or 
less  distinctly,  and  acted  on  the  faith  of,  in  all 
ages.  Depend  on  it,  there  are  many  things 
in  heaven  and  earth  which  you  believe  in, 
though  you  can  neither  see  them,  nor  make 
a  picture  of  them  in  your  head.  What  is 
all  religion,  but  a  worship  of  the  Unseen, 
nay,  the  Invisible  ?  Superstition  gives  its 
God  a  shape,  sometimes  in  marble  or  on 
canvas,  oftener  in  the  imagination ;  but  re- 
ligion tells  us  that  with  Him,  form  and  du- 
ration are  not  ;  for  He  is  the  same  yester- 
day, to-day,  and  for  ever.  Time  is  an  eter- 


WOT  TON  REIN  FRED. 

nal  now,  and  no  eye  hath  seen  Him  nor  can 
see." 

Burridge  shook  his  head.  "  Ah,  Frank,  you 
are  a  heretic  in  understanding,  and  if  your 
heart  did  not  know  better,  I  really  think  we 
should  have  you  burnt  by  the  first  Auto  da  Fe. 
But  tell  me  why  do  you  fight  duels  ?  No,  it 
is  not  out  of  disgrace  or  fear,  for  you  would 
let  yourself  be  shot  equally  in  the  Island  of 
Juan  Fernandez,  nay,  in  another  planet,  if  need 
were,  and  though  you  were  never  more  to  see 
a  human  face ;  but  it  is  because  you  also  wor- 
ship the  spirit  of  honour,  which  is  your  invisi- 
ble deity,  before  which  all  other  feelings,  all 
earthly  joy  and  pain  fly  away  like  light  dust 
before  the  whirlwind.  Thus  you  too  believe 
in  the  reality  of  the  invisible,  nay,  in  its  chief 
or  sole  reality ;  yes,  you  and  all  of  us,  else 
were  we  machines  not  men ;  more  cunningly 
devised  steam-engines,  to  manufacture  and  to 
be  impelled  ;  not  reasonable  souls,  to  make 
and  to  will." 

"But  what  has  this  to  do  with  poetry?" 
said  Williams. 


140  WOT  TON  REINFRED. 

"  In  our  view  it  has  much  to  do  with  moral 
goodness,"  answered  Maurice,  "  and  therefore 
with  the  poet  who  is  the  interpreter  and  shad- 
ower  forth  of  goodness.  Except  on  some  such 
principle,  consciously  or,  it  may  be,  uncon- 
sciously adopted,  I  see  not  how  he  is  to  find 
firm  footing ;  for  it  is  only  by  a  sense  of  the 
invisible  that  we  can  clearly  understand  the 
visible,  that  we  learn  to  tolerate  it,  nay,  to  love 
it  and  see  its  worth  amid  its  worthlessness." 

"  These  are  hard  sayings,"  rejoined  the 
other,  archly  :  "  Who  can  understand  them  ? 
I  question  but  that  blackbird  that  sits  on  the 
hawthorn-tree,  singing  its  carol  in  the  red  sun- 
light, is  a  better  poet  in  its  way  than  any  of  us." 

"  The  perfection  of  poets,"  answered  Mau- 
rice, "  would  be  a  man  as  harmonious  and 
complete  in  his  reasonable  being  as  that  bird 
in  its  instinctive  being." 

"  The  blackbird,  at  least,  is  born,  not  made," 
said  Williams  ;  "  is  it  not  so  also  of  the 
poet?" 

"  Born  and  made  were  perhaps  truer  of  the 
poet,"  answered  Maurice.  "  Nature  in  her 


WOT  TON  RE  IN  FRED.  I4I 

bounty  gives  him  much,  but  her  most  pre- 
cious gift  is  the  wish  and  aptitude  to  cultivate 
himself  to  become  what  he  was  capable  of 
being." 

"  Are  not  all  men,  while  under  strong  ex- 
citement, poets  ?  "  said  the  Oxonian. 

"  Scarcely,"  answered  Burridge  ;  "  the  hen 
does  but  cackle  when  you  excite  her,  she  will 
not  sing." 

"  A  false  simile  !  "  cried  the  other.  "  The 
hen's  cackling  may  be  musical  to  hens ;  for  it 
is  the  law  of  nature  that  all  living  beings  sym- 
pathise with  beings  organised  like  themselves. 
Human  passion  is  poetical  to  men,  and  makes 
men  poets.  The  rude  Indian  defies  his  fellow 
savage  in  gorgeous  tropes,  the  peasant  is  a 
poet  when  he  first  sees  the  wonders  of  the 
city,  a  poet  when  he  trembles  at  the  moon- 
shiny  churchyard,  a  poet  when  he  goes  to 
church  in  sunlight  with  his  wedding  company 
and  his  bride." 

"  Umph  ! "  inarticulated  Dalbrook. 

"  Now  the  poet  is  simply  always  what 
these  are  only  now  and  then,"  continued  the 

IO 


142  WOT  TON  REIN  FRED. 

other,  "  and  his  fine  frenzy,  when  he  utters  it, 
is  poetry." 

"  Yet  this  frenzy,  you  observe,  must  be 
fine,"  said  Wotton,  "  and  therein  lies  the  puz- 
zle of  the  problem.  The  poet  is  an  artist  and 
does  not  sing  from  any  Delphic  tripod  ;  he 
has  need  of  forethought  as  well  as  fury,  and 
many  times,  I  doubt,  finds  it  no  such  smooth 
matter." 

"  True,  he  is  an  artist,"  said  the  other ; 
"  his  mind  is  stored  with  imagery  and  beauti- 
ful remembrances ;  these  he  unites,  omitting 
what  was  trivial  or  repulsive  in  them,  and 
thus  is  formed  by  degrees  an  ideal  whole  in 
his  mind.  When  the  painter  would  create  his 
Venus,  does  he  not  borrow  the  eyes  from  this 
fair  woman,  the  nose  from  that,  the  lips  from 
another ;  and  uniting  so  many  separate  beau- 
ties, form  them  into  one  beauty,  which  is  in- 
deed all  taken  from  nature,  yet  to  which  na- 
ture has  and  can  have  no  parallel  ?  " 

"  When  the  mantua-maker  would  create  a 
kettle-quilt,"  cried  Williams,  gaily,  "  does  she 
not  borrow  the  patch  of  taffeta  from  this 


WOT  TON  REIN  FRED.  143 

bright  remnant,  the  lustring  from  that,  the 
sarcenet  from  another,  and  so  produce  a  kettle- 
quilt,  which  is  indeed  all  taken  from  Spital- 
fields,  yet  to  which  all  Spitalfields  can  show 
no  parallel  ?  I  declare  to  you,  my  friend,  I 
could  never  for  an  hour  believe  in  this  theory, 
though  Akenside  himself  took  it  under  his 
wing,  nay,  for  aught  I  know  first  hatched  it." 

"  Why  do  we  not  in  good  earnest  set  up 
Gulliver's  poetical  turning-loom,"  said  Wot- 
ton,  "  and  produce  our  poetry  in  Birmingham 
by  steam  ?" 

"  It  is  surely  a  false  theory,"  said  Dai- 
brook,  "  but  of  a  piece  with  other  false  me- 
chanical philosophy.  All  things  must  be  ren- 
dered visible  or  they  are  not  conceivable : 
poetry  is  an  internal  joiner-work,  but  what  of 
that?  Virtue  itself  is  an  association  or  per- 
haps a  fluid  in  the  nerves ;  thought  is  some 
vibration,  or  at  best  some  camera-obscura  pict- 
uring in  the  brain  ;  volition  is  the  mounting 
of  a  scale  or  the  pressing  of  a  spring  ;  and  the 
mind  is  some  balance,  or  engine,  motionless  of 
itself,  till  it  be  swayed  this  way  and  that  by 


144  WOT  TON  RE  IN  FRED. 

external  things.  Good  Heavens !  Surely  if 
we  have  any  soul  there  must  be  a  kind  of  life 
in  it  ?  Surely  it  does  not  hang  passive  and  in- 
ert within  us,  but  acts  and  works ;  and  if  so, 
acts  and  works  like  an  immaterial  spirit  on 
spiritual  things,  not  like  an  artisan  on  matter. 
Surely  it  were  good,  then,  even  in  our  loosest 
contemplations,  to  admit  some  little  mystery 
in  the  operating  of  a  power  by  its  nature  so 
inscrutable.  With  our  similitudes,  we  make 
the  mind  a  passive  engine,  set  in  motion  by 
the  senses :  as  it  were  a  sort  of  thought-mill 
to  grind  sensations  into  ideas,  by  which  fig- 
ures also  we  conceive  this  grinding  process  to 
be  very  prettily  explained.  Nay,  it  is  the 
same  in  our  material  physiology  as  in  our 
mental ;  animal  life,  like  spiritual,  you  find  is 
tacitly  regarded  as  a  quality,  a  susceptibility, 
the  relation  and  result  of  other  powers,  not  it- 
self the  origin  and  fountain-head  of  all  other 
powers ;  but  its  force  comes  from  without  by 
palpable  transmission,  does  not  dwell  mys- 
teriously within,  and  emanate  mysteriously  in 
wonder-working  influences  from  within ;  and 


WOTTON  REINFRED.  145 

man  himself  is  but  a  more  cunning  chemico- 
mechanical  combination,  such  as  in  the  prog- 
ress of  discovery  we  may  hope  to  see  manu- 
factured at  Soho.  Nay,  smile  not  incredu- 
lously, John  Williams  !  It  is  even  as  I  say  ; 
and  thus  runs  the  high-road  to  Atheism  in 
religion,  materialism  in  philosophy,  utility  in 
morals,  and  flaring,  effect-seeking  mannerism 
in  Art.  Art  do  I  call  it  ?  Let  me  not  profane 
the  name  !  Poetry  is  a  making,  a  creation," 
added  he,  "  and  the  first  rising  up  of  a  poem 
in  the  head  of  a  poet  is  as  inexplicable,  by  ma- 
terial formulas,  as  the  first  rising  up  of  nature 
out  of  chaos." 

"  I  have  often  recollected  the  story  of 
Phidias,"  said  Wotton,  "  when  in  his  exile  he 
had  retired  to  Elis,  and,  to  punish  his  country- 
men, had  resolved  to  make  a  Jupiter  still 
grander  than  their  Minerva.  The  thought  he 
meant  to  express  was  present  to  him,  all  the 
strength  and  the  repose,  the  kingly  omnipo- 
tence of  the  Olympian  ;  but  no  visible  form 
would  it  assume,  no  feature  to  body  itself 
forth ;  and  the  statuary  wandered  for  days 


146  WOT  TON  REIN  FRED. 

and  weeks  in  the  pain  of  an  inward  idea  which 
would  cast  itself  out  in  no  external  symbol. 
Once  he  was  loitering  at  sunset  among  the 
groves,  his  heart  sick  in  its  baffled  vehemence 
his  head  full,  yet  dark  and  formless ;  when,  at 
the  opening  of  some  avenue,  a  procession  of 
maidens,  returning  from  the  fountain  with 
their  pitchers  on  their  heads,  suddenly  uplift- 
ed the  evening  hymn  to  Jove ;  and,  in  a  mo- 
ment, the  artist's  head  was  overflowed  with 
light,  and  the  figure  of  his  Jupiter  started 
forth  in  all  its  lineaments  before  his  mind,  and 
stood  there  visible  and  admirable  to  himself, 
as  afterwards,  transferred  to  marble,  it  was  for 
many  ages  to  the  world." 

"  Yes,"  said  Dalbrook,  "  a  strange  wind 
will  sometimes  rend  asunder  the  cloud-cur- 
tains from  the  soul,  and  the  fair  creation, 
perfected  in  secret,  lies  unexpectedly  be- 
fore us  like  the  gift  of  some  higher  gen- 
ius." 

"  Some  such  process,"  said  Maurice,  "  some 
such  influence  as  this  of  Phidias's,  in  one  man- 
ner or  another,  most  poets  seem  to  have  felt. 


WOTTON  REIN  FRED.  i^j 

What  else  is  it  that  they  call  their'  inspira- 
tion ?  " 

"  Well !  "  cried  Elizabeth,  "  the  sun  is 
going  down  here  also ;  our  groves  on  such  a 
night  are  little  worse  than  those  of  Elis.  If  I 
should  sing  you  some  song  to  my  harp,  we 
might  have  the  scene  of  this  same  Phidias 
moderately  realised ;  and  then,"  added  she 
archly,  "  if  any  of  you  geniuses  had  a  heart, 
who  knows  but  you  might  make  somewhat 
yourselves  by  winds  of  inspiration?" 

"  Do  let  us  try,  Elizabeth  !  "  cried  several 
voices. 

Elizabeth  complying,  sang  handsomely 
enough,  with  sweet  accompanying  harp-tones, 
a  not  ungraceful  song  to  evening ;  but  none 
of  our  friends,  as  would  appear,  played  Phid- 
ias to  it,  but  retired  to  the  house,  and  by  de- 
grees to  their  rooms,  without  creation  of  any 
sort;  nay,  rather,  with  destruction,  for  cer- 
tain of  them  consumed  some  supper. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  inmates  of  the  House  in  the  Wold 
were  a  fluctuating  brotherhood  ;  now  coming, 
now  departing ;  so  that  week  after  week, 
often  day  after  day,  a  new  assortment  of  char- 
acters appeared  upon  the  scene.  Bernard 
had  not  yet  returned  ;  and  Wotton  was  spend- 
ing the  morning  in  a  richly-furnished  picture- 
gallery,  under  the  conduct  of  his  fair  hostess, 
who  had  herself  proposed  this  indoors  occu- 
pation, less  with  a  view  of  instructing  her  new 
friend  in  pictorial  art,  for  which,  however,  she 
was  well  qualified,  than  of  gradually  dispell- 
ing his  reserve,  and  winning  her  way  into 
more  free  communication  with  him.  For 
such  an  object,  which  besides  she  carefully 
kept  out  of  sight,  this  place  was  not  ill  chosen. 
Wotton  knew  little  of  art,  but  his  suscepti- 
bility for  it  was  deep  and  keen ;  these  noble 


WOT  TON  REIN  FRED. 

pictures  could  not  but  pleasantly  engage  him  ; 
and  while  under  the  clear  and  graceful  com- 
mentary of  one  speaking  from  the  heart  and 
to  the  heart,  many  a  figure  rose  with  fresh 
loveliness  before  his  eyes,  and  revealed  to  him 
in  glimpses  the  secret  of  its  beauty,  he  felt  as 
if  acquiring  some  new  sense,  and  distant  an- 
ticipations of  unknown  glories  finally  predis- 
posed him  for  giving  and  receiving,  at  inter- 
vals, some  friendlier  expression  of  personal 
feeling,  with  which  the  pictorial  lesson  might 
be  intermingled.  He  began  to  be  at  home 
with  his  fair  critic,  and  had  the  satisfaction  to 
perceive  that  here  and  there  an  observation 
which  he  hazarded  was  partially  approved 
of,  and  given  back  to  him  by  new  examples, 
and  in  new  elucidation  and  expansion.  The 
thought  of  being  interrupted  could  not  have 
been  welcome  to  either,  when  the  rolling  of  a 
carriage  rapidly  approached  the  house,  and 
terminated  in  as  loud  an  explosion  of  sound  as 
the  gravel  would  admit  of  before  the  main 
door. 

"  It  is  Isabella  and  her  nephew,"  said  the 


150  WOTTON  REIN  FRED. 

lady.     "  We  shall  by  and  bye  resume  our  lect- 
ure.    Meanwhile  let  us  go  and  meet  them." 

The  gallery  extended  from  the  drawing- 
room,  which  they  had  reached  by  a  side  en- 
trance, when  the  door  flew  open,  and  a  ser- 
vant ushered  in  the  new  guests.  The  airy 
lady  and  her  gay  voluble  compliments,  as  she 
floated  in  with  her  silken  travelling  attire,  ob- 
tained little  notice  from  Wotton,  for  his  whole 
being  was  fascinated  in  strange  pain,  at 
another  name  and  aspect.  Figure  his  mood 
when  he  found  himself  introduced  in  form  to 
Captain — Edmund  Walter !  For  one  suffocat- 
ing moment  no  force  of  ceremonial  principle 
could  hide  the  fierce  alarm  which  pealed 
through  his  soul;  but  he  stood  motionless, 
and  with  wild  dilated  eye,  the  quiverings  or 
quick  stormful  flushes  of  the  face  must  have 
betokened  mystery  to  the  least  heedful  wit- 
ness. Over  Walter's  darker  countenance  there 
also  passed,  but  with  inconceivable  rapidity,  a 
twinge  of  sternest  recognition ;  but  it  van- 
ished as  it  rose ;  and  with  courteous  compos- 
ure, he  approached  his  new  acquaintance, 


WOT  TON  REIN  FRED.  151 

affably  expressing-  his  happiness  in  meeting 
with  a  countryman,  of  whom  he  had  often 
heard ;  and  subjoined  this  and  that  compli- 
mentary remark,  passing  by  easy  transition  to 
more  general  topics,  and  this  with  a  frankness, 
nay,  a  kindness,  which  irresistibly  rolled  back 
the  tempest  into  Wotton's  heart,  and  with 
gentle  influence  smoothed  him  into  calmness. 
Thus  was  serenity  restored  almost  before  it 
had  been  missed ;  the  company  were  at  their 
ease,  and  Wotton  wondered  to  find  himself  so- 
cially exchanging  indifferent  thoughts  with  this 
man,  both  hearts  meanwhile,  it  is  like,  shut  up 
in  enmity  ,•  as  soldiers  from  two  hostile  camps 
may  for  a  time  mingle  in  some  common  mar- 
ket, and  traffic  peaceably,  though  their  artil- 
lery is  not  destroyed,  but  only  slumbering 
within  the  trenches,  and  to-morrow  they  must 
join  in  battle. 

Some  such  thought  was  lurking  in  the 
background  of  Wotton's  mind  ;  but  Walter's 
thoughts  seemed  not  of  war,  for  nothing  could 
be  friendlier  and  gayer  than  the  temper  he 
showed.  Dorothy  alone  glanced  at  him  now 


WOT  TON  RE  IN  FRED. 

and  then,  as  if  she  had  observed  the  effect  of 
his  entrance,  and  not  forgotten  it ;  as  if  she 
suspected  somewhat.  To  Wotton,  again, 
deeply  as  he  reckoned  himself  entitled  to  de- 
test and  dread  this  Walter,  there  was  a  singu- 
lar dominion  in  his  presence ;  a  power  which, 
whether  it  were  benignant  or  the  contrary, 
you  could  not  but  in  part  respect.  He  seemed 
a  man  of  thirty,  military  in  his  air  rather 
than  his  dress  ;  his  compact,  sinewy  frame  im- 
pressed you  in  its  soldier-like  repose  with  an 
idea  of  strength  beyond  his  stature,  which, 
however,  was  tall  and  portly  ;  while  the  thick 
black  locks  clustering  in  careless  profusion 
round  that  face,  so  still  and  massive,  burnt  by 
many  suns ;  the  broad  brow ;  the  calm,  quick 
eyes,  fearless,  not  defiant ;  the  lips,  firm  with- 
out effort,  and  curved  in  manifold  yet  scarce 
perceptible  expression ;  all  bespoke  a  charac- 
ter of  singular  vehemence  and  vigour,  a  strik- 
ing union  of  passionate  force  with  the  strict- 
est self-control.  Yet  this  self-control  did  not 
invite  you,  but  rather  silently  beckoned  you 
away ;  for  this,  too,  seemed  passionate,  the  re- 


WOT  TON  REIN  FRED.  ^3 

suit  not  of  love,  but  of  pride ;  not  of  principle, 
but  of  calculation  ;  its  very  strength  seemed 
dangerous.  You  would  have  said,  the  man  had 
lived  in  wild  perils  and  wild  pleasures ;  min- 
gling stormfully  in  both,  but  surrendering  him- 
self to  neither ;  acting  among  multitudes,  nay, 
ruling  over  them,  yet  apart  and  alone  when  in 
the  midst  of  them ;  it  was  as  if  no  difficulty 
could  discompose  him,  no  danger  make  him 
tremble,  but,  also,  no  pity  make  him  weep. 
To  Wotton  there  was  something  alienating 
and  oppressive  in  this  look  of  quietude,  of 
sufficiency,  and  unsuffering  isolation ;  he 
gazed  on  the  man,  sitting  there,  thrown  negli- 
gently backwards,  speaking  with  such  vivid- 
ness and  penetration,  yet  so  cool,  so  indiffer- 
ent; and  there  were  moments  when,  had  it 
not  been  for  a  softer  gleam,  perhaps  of  sor- 
row, now  and  then  blending  in  the  steady  fire 
of  those  dark  eyes,  he  could  almost  have  fan- 
cied him  a  man  molten  out  of  bronze. 

In  a  little  while,  the  gay  Isabella  had  re- 
tired to  her  room,  and  Walter,  who  professed 
an  unabated  love  for  art,  volunteered  to  attend 


154  WOTTON  REIN  FRED 

our  two  students  in  a  farther  survey  of  the 
gallery.  Wotton  was  again  among  his  pict- 
ures ;  his  eye  still  followed  that  of  his  fair  in- 
structress ;  but  the  pleasure  of  the  lesson  was 
now  in  great  part  gone.  His  late  growing 
frankness,  checked  rudely  enough  by  this  ren- 
counter, had  given  place  to  a  certain  irksome 
estrangement,  which,  indeed,  Walter  himself 
by  many  little  attentions,  the  more  artful  that 
they  seemed  involuntary,  was  the  readiest  to 
attempt  removing.  Walter's  feeling  of  art  ap- 
peared much  more  distinct,  but  also  much 
coarser  and  narrower  than  Wotton's ;  you 
would  have  said  he  admired  in  the  picture  lit- 
tle more  than  some  reflex  of  himself.  For  the 
still  beauty,  and  meek,  graceful  significance  of 
Raphael  he  expressed  no  love ;  he  lingered 
rather  over  the  scenes  of  Caspar,  Poussin,  and 
Salvator,  as  if  enjoying  their  savage  strength, 
as  if  in  art  in  general  the  superiority  of  beauty 
to  force  had  not  been  revealed  to  him.  But 
what  he  chiefly  dwelt  on  were  portraits,  by 
eminent  masters  of  eminent  men.  For  the 
merit  of  these  his  taste  seemed  true ;  yet  his 


WOT  TON  RE  IN  FRED.  !$5 

partialities  were  regulated  by  the  former  prin- 
ciple, and  appeared  to  depend  as  much  on  the 
subject  as  on  the  painter. 

"  Cousin,"  said  Dorothy,  with  a  smile,  "  I 
grieve  to  see  you  are  still  an  idolater  and  no 
true  worshipper  in  art ;  with  the  clearest  sense 
of  what  is  good  you  do  not  prefer  the  best ;  it 
is  not  the  pure  ideal,  but  the  exciting  real  that 
you  look  for ;  you  want  devoutness,  cousin  ; 
you  reverence  only  power." 

"  I  am  without  critical  taste,"  said  Walter ; 
"  but  I  tell  you  honestly  what  I  enjoy  and 
what  I  do  not.  Here,  for  instance,"  continued 
he,  "  here  is  my  old  friend  again ;  can  I  help 
it  if  I  like  him  ?  " 

"  It  is  Cromwell's  portrait,"  said  Wotton. 
"  Truly  a  striking  picture ;  and,  if  I  mistake 
not,  physiognomically  expressive  of  the  man." 

"  Old  Noll,  as  he  looked  and  lived  !  "  said 
Walter.  "  The  armed  genius  of  Puritanism  ; 
dark  in  his  inward  light ;  negligent,  awkward, 
in  his  strength ;  meanly  apparelled  in  his 
pride ;  base-born,  and  yet  more  than  kingly 
Those  bushy  grizzled  locks,  flowing  over  his 


WOT  TON  REIN  FRED. 

shoulders ;  that  high,  care-worn  brow  ;  the 
gleam  of  those  eyes,  cold  and  stern  as  the 
sheen  of  a  winter  moon ;  that  rude,  rough- 
hewn,  battered  face,  so  furrowed  over  with 
mad  inexplicable  traces,  the  very  wart  on  the 
cheek,  are  full  of  meaning.  This  is  the  man 
whose  words  no  one  could  interpret,  but 
whose  thoughts  were  clearest  wisdom,  who 
spoke  in  laborious  folly,  in  voluntary  or  in- 
voluntary enigmas,  but  saw  and  acted  uner- 
ringly as  fate.  Confusion,  ineptitude,  dishon- 
esty are  pictured  on  his  countenance,  but 
through  these  shines  a  fiery  strength,  nay,  a 
grandeur,  as  of  a  true  hero.  You  see  that  he 
was  fearless,  resolute  as  a  Scanderbeg,  yet 
cunning  and  double  withal,  like  some  paltry 
pettyfogger.  He  is  your  true  enthusiastic 
hypocrite  ;  at  once  crackbrained  and  inspired  ; 
a  knave  and  a  demigod  ;  in  brief,  old  Noll  as 
he  looked  and  lived  !  Confront  him  in  contest 
with  that  mild  melancholy  Stuart,  who  eyes 
him  in  regal  grace  and  order  from  the  other 
wall,  and  you  see  that  royalty  is  lost,  that  it  is 
but  withered  stubble  to  devouring  fire." 


WOT  TON  REIN  FRED.  ^7 

"  Yet  the  gray  discrowned  head"  said  Doro- 
thy, "  has  something  of  a  martyr  halo  round 
it  in  feeling  minds ;  and  our  thoughts  dwell 
rather  with  the  ringdove  in  his  nest,  than  with 
the  falcon  who  made  it  desolate." 

"  I  confess  I  am  for  the  falcon,"  said  Wot- 
ton,  "  only  he  should  fly  at  other  game  than 
ringdoves.  And  for  this  martyr  of  ours,  we 
love  him  chiefly,  I  believe,  because  he  was 
unfortunate ;  otherwise  in  his  history  there  is 
much  to  pity,  but  little  to  admire.  Surely, 
indeed,  to  quit  our  figure,  it  is  wrong  to  rev- 
erence the  spirit  of  power,  considered  simply 
as  such  ;  yet  power  is  the  sense  of  all  sublim- 
ity, and  does  not  this  of  necessity  captivate 
the  mi'nd;  nay,  is  it  not  the  chief  element  of 
religion  itself  ?  " 

"  Scarcely  of  the  highest  religion,  our  phi- 
losophers would  tell  us,"  answered  she.  "  Per- 
fect love  casteth  out  fear.  To  a  true  worship- 
per, the  omnipotence  of  God  is  lost  in  His 
holiness ;  in  other  words,  sublimity  is  swal- 
lowed up  in  all-comprehending  beaut)'.  You 

will   observe,  too,  how   much    easier  it  is  to 
ii 


Ijjg  WOT  TON  REIN  FRED. 

homage  the  former  than  the  latter  attribute. 
In  every  thunderstorm  we  see  the  very  beasts 
fall  prostrate  with  a  sort  of  terror-struck,  slav- 
ish worship,  and  dumb  cry  for  mercy ;  such, 
likewise,  has  been,  and  in  great  part  still  is, 
the  devotion  of  most  men ;  but  for  the  pure 
soul  that,  without  thought  of  self,  worships 
the  beauty  of  holiness,  fears  not  and  yet  rever- 
ences, we  still  look  as  for  a  jewel  in  the  com- 
mon sand  ;  and  in  ourselves  we  are  glad  if  we 
can  trace  any  vestiges  of  what  in  its  complete 
sovereignty  should  form  the  crowning  glory 
of  our  culture.  For  is  it  not  our  chief  glory 
that  the  strong  can  be  made  obedient  to  the 
weak ;  that  we  yield  not  to  force  but  to  good- 
ness ;  that  we  walk  under  heavenly  influences, 
which  are  mild  and  still,  not  under  earthly  de- 
sires, which  are  fierce  and  tumultuous  ?  Nay, 
that  while  these  incessantly  assault  us,  those 
alone  should  quicken  us,  alone  be  felt  and  re- 
garded. Of  you,  my  friend,  I  shall  one  day 
make  a  convert;  but  for  our  cousin  here," 
added  she,  with  a  grave  smile,  "  he  is  wedded 
to  his  errors." 


WOT  TON  REIN  FRED.  159 

"  And  a  stormy  matrimony  we  have  had  of 
it,"  said  Walter,  "  before  the  household  could 
be  brought  to  peace.  But  positively,  cousin, 
you  do  me  wrong ;  I  have  my  lucid  intervals 
as  well  as  another ;  only  in  a  life  of  storm 
and  battle  our  philosophy  will  sometimes  step 
aside,  and  many  things  must  be  left  as  they 
can  be,  not  as  they  should." 

Dorothy,  with  a  faint  smile,  shook  her 
head.  On  the  whole  it  seemed  to  be  an  object 
with  the  soldier  to  stand  well  with  her  ;  an 
object  which,  under  a  show  of  candour  and  in- 
difference, he  was  not  imperceptibly  pursuing 
with  unusual  eagerness,  and  in  which  with  all 
his  mastery  in  such  arts,  he  appeared  by  no 
means  completely  prospering.  In  the  pierc- 
ing eye  of  such  a  woman,  the  craftiest  dissimu- 
lation brings  no  perfect  concealment ;  in  pure 
souls  there  is  an  instinct  which,  in  the  absence 
of  vision,  warns  them  away  from  the  bad,  and 
as  if  in  obscure  beckonings  declares :  "  There 
cannot  be  communion  between  us."  Much 
more  when  this  instinct,  the  product  of  the 
heart,  has  been  allied  to  quickness  of  intellect- 


l6o  WOTTON  REIN  FRED. 

ual  perception,  and  its  dim  intimations  be- 
come clear  in  the  light  of  long  observation 
and  experience  of  men  and  their  ways.  Wal- 
ter's secret  might  be  hidden,  but  the  hiding  of 
it  was  not  hidden ;  under  this  smooth  smiling 
expanse  his  fair  cousin  felt  that  there  were 
rocks  and  cruel  abysses ;  that  whoso  trusted 
to  its  calmness  might  find  it  a  treacherous 
element,  and  in  its  strength  make  shipwreck. 

But  in  a  little  while  the  Lady  Isabella 
flitted  in,  new  and  glittering  like  a  pheasant 
after  moultmg-time  ;  in  whose  gay,  graceful 
discursiveness  all  sober  study,  all  serious  pur- 
pose, whether  of  aversion  or  affection,  neces- 
sarily found  its  turn.  She  was  one  of  those 
souls  to  whom  Heaven  has  denied  the  power 
of  any  perseverance.  Sharp,  rapid  in  her  un- 
derstanding, keen  and  many  times  correct  in 
her  tastes,  she  had,  indeed,  the  elements  of 
much  worth  within  her,  but  these  so  loosely 
combined,  and  intermixed  with  such  a  quan- 
tity of  light  alloy,  that  generally  their  influ- 
ence was  ineffectual,  nay,  often  their  existence 
altogether  invisible.  She  looked  upon  the 


WOT  TON  RE  IN  FRED.  r6r 

world  as  a  vain  show,  for  such  to  her  it  really 
was ;  without  serious  interest  in  it,  without 
hope,  or,  indeed,  wish  of  any  abiding"  good, 
she  flickered  through  it  gracefully  and  care- 
lessly as  through  the  mazes  of  a  masquerade, 
neither  loving  any  of  her  brother  figures  nor 
hating  any,  content  if  this  or  that  individual 
among  them  could  transiently  amuse  her  with 
his  talent,  and  all  would  gratify  her  with  due 
admiration.  Nor  was  it  men  only  that  she 
viewed  as  masks,  but,  indeed,  all  things ;  in 
her  conceptions  no  object  was,  properly  speak- 
ing, of  more  than  two  dimensions,  length  and 
breadth,  without  thickness ;  so  she  dwelt  not 
among,  things,  but  among  hollow  shells  of 
things,  mere  superficies,  of  more  or  less  brill- 
iancy in  truth,  but  without  solidity  or  value, 
and  which  thus  deserved  no  care  from  her, 
thus  obtained  none.  For  with  all  her  suscep- 
tibility it  was  nearly  impossible  to  fix  her 
mind  on  aught ;  greatness,  goodness  of  any 
sort,  would  bring  a  tear  into  her  bright  eyes, 
but  next  moment  she  was  thinking  how  very 
singular  this  greatness  or  this  goodness  looked. 


WOTTON  REIN  FRED. 

She  believed  in  Heaven  and  Hell ;  yet  always 
after  the  first  thrill  of  wonder  or  terror,  she 
insensibly  figured  them  like  more  extended 
meetings  at  Almack's ;  the  first,  a  bright  as- 
semblage, gas-lit,  harmonious,  fantastic,  and 
unspeakably  amusing ;  the  last,  some  obscure 
chaotic  medley,  horrid,  it  is  true,  but  chiefly 
by  its  dulness  and  vulgarity,  an  intensation 
merely  of  the  horror  suffered  in  a  maladroit 
"  At  Home."  Thus  all  things  in  her  were  like 
Sybil's  leaves ;  her  opinions,  purposes,  moods, 
at  the  breath  of  every  accident,  were  in  con- 
tinual flux  and  reflux,  and  if  with  her  gaiety 
and  grace  she  was  delightful  for  an  hour,  her 
dominion  for  a  day  was  well-nigh  insupport- 
able. 

To  Wotton,  in  his  present  humour,  such 
entertainment  was  peculiarly  unsolacing :  this 
sparkling,  fitful  levity,  which  he  could  neither 
rule  nor  obey,  distressed  him  ;  but  if  Walter's 
presence  had  been  like  a  nightmare,  which  he 
thought  not  to  withstand,  this  was  a  continual 
dropping,  which  in  its  annoyance  reminded 
him  of  escape.  He  seized  the  first  fit  oppor- 


WOT  TON  REINFRED.  ^3 

tunity ;  said  something  of  his  customary  morn- 
ing ride  ;  and  with  hasty  compliments  took 
leave. 

His  morning  ride  was  a  ceremony  of  no 
binding  nature ;  but  a  new  light  rose  on  him 
while  his  horse  was  a-saddling.  "  Would  I 
were  with  Bernard ! "  thought  he ;  for  his 
heart  was  weighed  down  with  a  crushing 
load,  and  he  felt  as  if  free  speech  would  be  an 
inexpressible  relief  to  him.  Leaving  a  proper 
message  with  the  groom,  he  accordingly  in- 
quired his  way  across  the  hills ;  learned  that 
in  two  hours  of  good  riding  he  might  reach 
his  friend  ;  and  so  at  a  brisk  pace,  which  soon 
became  a  gallop,  he  left  the  happy  valley. 

Such  furious  speed  seemed  at  once  to  ex- 
press and  in  some  degree  assuage  the  internal 
uproar;  but  in  his  mind  there  was  neither 
peace  nor  clearness,  all  was  yet  imagination 
and  sensation ;  its  forms  had  not  given  birth 
to  thoughts,  but  in  their  greater  stillness  were 
only  growing  more  complicated,  more  gigan- 
tic; and  ever  as  he  pulled  up,  in  ascending 
some  rough  steep,  or  from  his  ledge  of  road 


164  WOTTON  REIN  FRED. 

looked  down  into  the  shaggy  chasm,  it  seemed 
amid  the  sound  of  waterfalls  and  moaning 
woods  and  hoarse  choughs,  as  if  deep  were 
speaking  of  him  to  deep  in  prophetic  words 
full  of  mystery,  sadness,  and  awe.  The  jour- 
ney itself  was  soon  and  safely  accomplished, 
but  it  proved  ineffectual..  Bernard  was  from 
home,  he  had  gone  with  the  nobleman,  his 
landlord,  to  attend  some  meeting  in  the  mar- 
ket town  of  the  district,  and  was  not  expected 
till  the  morrow. 

With  difficulty,  Wotton,  bent  on  continu- 
ing his  quest,  yielded  to  friendly  entreaty  and 
alighted,  that  so  clearer  direction  and  brief 
rest  and  refreshment  might  enable  man  and 
horse  to  pursue  their  route  with  more  conven- 
ience. The  town  was  at  some  twelve  miles 
distance,  and  two  roads  led  to  it ;  of  which 
our  traveller  preferred  the  horseway  through 
the  mountains,  as  shorter  and  more  solitary ; 
for  in  this  mood  the  waste  stillness  of  such 
regions  was  friendly  to  him.  For  the  rest,  the 
mansion  being  empty,  save  of  servants,  no  un- 
essential delay  was  called  for :  in  a  little  while 


WOTTON  REIN  FRED.  ^5 

Radbury  Park  with  its  groves  and  lawns  had 
disappeared,  and  Wotton  was  again  mounting 
the  uplands  in  vain  eagerness  to  reach  what 
he  half  knew  could  little  avail  him.  The  de- 
clining sun  shone  softly  on  him  through  the 
foliage  of  the  glens ;  the  brooks  gushed  loud 
and  cheerful  by  his  side ;  and  often  from  some 
open  eminence  his  eye  rested  on  stern  blue 
ranges,  or  caught  here  and  there  the  glitter  of 
a  lake  or  streamlet  in  the  distance.  But  his 
heart  was  heavy  and  alone  as  in  old  days  ;  the 
dreamy  hope  which  had  mingled  with  so  much 
inquietude  in  the  morning,  seemed  to  die  away 
and  retire  into  littleness,  as  the  scene  of  it  re- 
tired ;  and  he  asked  himself :  "  What  art  thou 
to  this  man  Walter,  or  what  is  he  to  thee,  that 
thou  shouldst  either  shrink  from  him  or  seek 
him  ?  Dost  thou  still  love,  still  look  for  bless- 
edness, outcast  as  thou  art  ?  Art  not  thou  poor 
and  helpless ;  are  not  the  gates  of  human  ac- 
tivity inexorably  shut  against  thee  ?  Have  I 
an  aim  that  is  not  mad,  a  hope  of  peace  but  in 
the  chambers  of  death !  O  thou  bright  form, 
why  lingerest  thou  still  in  the  desert  of  my 


!66  WOTTON  REIN  FRED. 

life?  Vanish,  fair  treacherous  vision,  vanish 
and  mock  me  not.  If  I  have  been  unwise  I 
bear  it,  and  darkness  and  desolation  are  my 
lot  for  ever." 

In  this  humour,  little  would  have  tempted 
him  to  turn  his  horse  suddenly  ;  to  snap  asun- 
der these  new-formed  ties,  and,  without  leave- 
taking-,  hurry  back  to  his  native  solitudes  with 
blank  despondency  for  his  guide.  •  But  shame 
and  a  little  remnant  of  hope  still  urged  him 
forward :  "  After  all,"  said  he,  "  what  have  I 
to  lose  ?  My  integrity  is  mine,  and  nothing 
more.  Who  fears  not  death,  him  no  shadow 
can  make  tremble  ; "  and  reciting  this  latter 
sentence  with  a  strong  low  tone  in  the  original 
words  of  Euripides,  its  author ;  he  rode  along 
as  if  composing  his  soul  by  this  antique  spell 
into  forced  and  painful  rest. 

In  a  short  while  his  attention  was  called 
outwards  from  these  meditations,  for  the  val- 
ley he  had  been  ascending  closed  in  abruptly 
on  a  broad,  rugged  mountain,  stretching  like 
a  wall  across  the  whole  breadth  of  the  hollow, 
the  high  sides  of  which  it  irregularly  inter- 


WOTTON  REIN  FRED. 

seated,  forming  on  both  hands  a  rude  course 
for  the  winter  torrents,  and  on  the  right  a 
path,  which  suddenly  became  so  steep  and 
stony  that  Wotton  judged  it  prudent  to  dis- 
mount while  climbing  it.  Arrived  with  some 
labour  at  the  top,  he  again  found  himself  in 
the  western  sunlight,  which  had  been  hid  be- 
low, and  he  paused  with  the  bridle  in  his  hand 
to  wonder  over  a  scene  which,  whether  by  its 
natural  character,  or  from  the  present  temper 
of  his  own  mind,  surpassed  in  impressiveness 
all  that  he  had  ever  looked  on. 

It  was  an  upland  wavy  expanse  of  heath  or 
rough  broken  downs,  where  valleys  in  com- 
plex branching  were,  openly  or  impercepti- 
bly, arranging  their  declivity  towards  every 
quarter  of  the  sky.  The  hilltops  were  beneath 
his  feet ;  the  cottages,  the  groves,  and  mead- 
ows lapped  up  in  the  folds  of  these  lower 
ranges  and  hid  from  sight ;  but  the  loftiest 
summits  of  the  region  towered  up  here  and 
there  as  from  their  base  ;  gray  cliffs  also  were 
scattered  over  the  waste,  and  tarns  lay  clear 
and  earnest  in  their  solitude.  Close  on  the  left 


1 68  WOT  TON  REINFRED. 

was  a  deep  chasm,  the  beginning  of  another 
valley,  on  the  farther  side  of  which  abruptly 
rose  a  world  of  fells,  as  it  were,  the  crown  and 
centre  of  the  whole  mountain  country  ;  a  hun- 
dred and  a  hundred  savage  peaks  attracting 
eye  and  heart  by  their  form,  for  all  was  glow- 
ing like  molten  gold  in  the  last  light  of  the  sun 
now  setting  behind  them,  and  in  this  majestic 
silence  to  the  wanderer,  pensive  and  lonely  in 
this  wilderness,  the  scene  was  not  only  beauti- 
ful but  solemn.  Wotton  was  affected  to  his 
inmost  soul ;  he  gazed  over  these  stupendous 
masses  in  their  strange  light,  and  it  seemed  to 
him  as  if  till  now  he  had  never  known  Nature ; 
never  felt  that  she  had,  indeed,  a  fairy  and  un- 
speakable loveliness ;  nay,  that  she  was  his 
mother  and  divine.  And  as  the  ruddy  glow 
faded  into  clearness  in  the  sky,  and  the  sheen 
of  the  peaks  grew  purple  and  sparkling,  and 
the  day  was  now  to  depart,  a  murmur  of  eter- 
nity and  immensity,  a  voice  from  other  worlds, 
stole  through  his  soul,  and  he  almost  felt  as  if 
the  earth  were  not  dead :  as  if  the  spirit  of  the 
earth  might  have  its  throne  in  this  glory,  and 


WOT  TON  REIN  FRED.  169 

his  own  spirit  might  commune  with  it  as  with 
a  kindred  thing.  "  'tlpec-repa  Trd/j,{3oTi  Fa  !  " 
internally  exclaimed  he  in  Doric  words ; 
"  'npea-repa  ira^oTi  Fa,  thou  rugged  all-sup- 
porting earth  !  " 

But  what  words  can  express  our  feeling  in 
such  hours  ?  It  is  as  if  the  spirit  for  a  mo- 
ment were  delivered  from  the  clay  ;  as  if  in  Pis- 
gah  vision  it  descried  the  gates  of  its  celestial 
home,  and  tones  of  a  diviner  melody  wafted 
from  beyond  this  world,  led  captive  our  puri- 
fied sense.  And  the  thought  of  death,  as  in 
all  scenes  of  grandeur,  steals  over  us,  and  of 
our  lost  ones  that  are  already  hid  in  the  nar- 
row house,  and  of  all  the  innumerable  nations 
of  the  dead  that  are  there  before  them,  the 
great  and  famous  that  have  gone  thither  since 
the  beginning  of  time.  Their  multitude  af- 
frights us ;  the  living  are  but  a  handful ;  one 
wave  in  the  boundless  tide  of  ages.  Who 
would  grieve  for  his  own  light  afflictions  in 
this  universal  doom  ?  Who  could  envy,  who 
could  hate  or  injure  any  fellow-man?  Frail 
transitory  man!  we  weep  over  him  in  fondest 


170  WOT  TON  REIN  FRED. 

pity,  for  the  shadows  of  Death  bound  in  our 
brightest  visions,  and  mingling  in  the  jubilee 
of  Nature  is  heard  a  voice  of  lamentation ! 

Wotton  was  aroused  from  his  strange  rev- 
eries by  the  tramp  of  approaching  riders. 
Starting  round,  he  observed  a  cavalcade 
emerging  from  the  dwarf  thickets  that  skirted 
the  base  of  a  neighbouring  cliff,  and  advancing 
towards  him  at  a  brisk  pace ;  or,  rather,  per- 
haps, towards  his  track  which  winded  for- 
ward through  the  wolds  obliquely  to  their 
present  one.  The  evening  light  shone  full  on 
the  group,  which  consisted  of  two  men  gaily 
mounted  and  a  lady  between  them,  managing 
a  light  Arab  with  the  skill  and  elegance  of  a 
complete  equestrian.  Long  folds  of  a  dark 
riding-dress  flowed  over  her  feet  and  the  side 
of  her  horse ;  black  locks  waved  in  graceful 
clusters  beneath  her  gold-banded  fur  barrette  ; 
but,  as  she  approached,  the  first  glimpse  of 
her  features  struck  our  hero  with  a  nameless 
feeling.  His  presence  also  in  these  solitudes 
at  such  an  hour  seemed  to  give  surprise  in  its 
turn,  for  the  whole  party  simultaneously 


WOTTON  REIN  FRED.  iji 

pulled  in  as  they  noticed  him  ;  and  the  lady 
drew  back  and  hastily  dropped  her  veil. 

"  A  good  evening,  fair  sir  !  "  said  one  of 
the  riders,  advancing  near  him.  "  You  lin- 
ger late  on  the  moors.  Has  anything  be- 
fallen ?  " 

Wotton  was  instinctively  clinging  to  his 
horse,  which  this  new  arrival  had  disturbed  : 
but  in  his  confusion  he  scarcely  knew  what 
the  stranger  had  said,  much  less  how  to  an- 
swer him  with  courtesy ;  he  answered  merely 
with  a  slight  bow  and  an  inquiring,  "  Sir?" 

"  Nay,  Jack,  you  are  wrong,  'tis  another !  " 
cried  the  second  horseman  also  coming  up. 
"  Pardon  us,  sir ! "  continued  he,  addressing 
Wotton.  "  The  sight  of  a  traveller  at  sunset 
on  these  wolds  and  not  in  motion  but  at  rest 
surprised  us,  and  we  have  forgotten  good 
manners  in  interfering  with  your  privacy. 
We  crave  your  pardon." 

"  The  wilderness  has  privileges  of  its  own," 
said  Wotton,  who  had  now  recovered  him- 
self. "  In  such  solitudes  every  human  face  is 
friendly.  No  pardon,  for  there  is  no  offence, 


1^2  WOTTON  RE  IN  FRED. 

but  a  favour.  I  am  a  stranger  among  the 
mountains,  a  passing  pilgrim  ;  the  wild  light 
of  these  fells  detained  me  in  spite  of  haste. 
If  our  roads  go  together,  I  shall  be  proud  of 
such  company,  I  am  riding  northwards." 

"  We  ride  alone,"  said  the  first  horseman, 
in  a  somewhat  surly  voice. 

Wotton  looked  in  his  face  ;  the  man,  natu- 
rally nowise  truculent,  had  an  aspect  of  elab- 
orate resolve,  almost  of  menace. 

"  You  have  leave,  sirs,"  answered  Wotton 
coldly,  and  bending  his  eyes  towards  the  path 
they  had  quitted. 

"  And  we  go  armed,"  said  the  other,  glanc- 
ing at  his  holsters,  and  evidently  piqued  by 
this  indifference. 

"  ZVfensively,  I  may  presume,"  said  Wot- 
ton, in  a  still  chiller  tone.  "  But  for  the  love  of 
God,  madame,"  cried  he  with  utmost  earnest- 
ness, and  advancing  a  step  towards  the  lady, 
whose  horse  had  now  joined  the  rest,  "  tell 
me,  are  not  you — ?" 

"  Ah,  yes ! "  faintly  interrupted  the  sweet 
silver  voice  of  Jane  Montagu.  "  But —  " 


WOTTON  REINFRED.  173 

"  Gracious  God  !  "  exclaimed  he,  almost 
sinking  in  the  unspeakable  conflict  of  his  feel- 
ings. "  Oh,  my  friend  !  my  friend  !  " 

"  Wotton  Reinfred,"  said  she,  in  a  livelier 
tone,  as  he  grasped  her  hand,  "  if  you  are  in- 
deed my  friend,  you  will  not  quarrel  with  my 
guardians,  nay,  my  blood  relations.  Here  is 
no  time  for  ceremonies  and  the  point  of  hon- 
our. This  is  no  recreant,  but  a  true  knight* 
and  loyal  to  me.  Of  caitiffs  we  have  enow 
besides ;  there,  give  him  your  hand  ;  and  for 
you,  sir,  mount,  if  you  will,  and  come  along 
with  us." 

The  surly  rider  brightened  up  into  frank- 
ness as  she  spoke  in  this  tone  ;  readily  apolo- 
gising for  his  over-hastiness,  he  proffered  cor- 
dial reconcilement ;  and  thus,  in  the  singular 
vicissitudes  of  a  few  moments,  was  Wotlon 
riding  forward  through  the  desert,  at  the  side 
of  one  whom  he  had  long  bitterly  mourned  as 
lost,  and  yet  could  scarcely  in  his  tumultuous 
bewilderment  believe  that  he  had  found. 

The  rapid  pace  at  which  they  rode  was 
unfavorable  to  talk  or  explanation,  which,  at 

12 


174  WOTTON  RE  IN  FRED. 

any  rate,  the  lady  seemed  desirous  to  avoid ; 
she  did  not  lift  her  veil ;  she  answered  briefly, 
and  in  a  voice  from  which  its  first  liveliness, 
perhaps  only  a  transient  gleam  constrained 
for  the  occasion,  had  disappeared.  She  was 
evidently  thoughtful,  earnest,  and  it  might  be, 
her  thoughts  were  of  sorrow  rather  than  of 
joy.  As  for  Wotton,  his  mind  was  as  in  a 
maze  ;  the  past  would  not  join  with  the  pres- 
ent or  the  future ;  and  at  times,  as  he  dashed 
along  in  silence  with  the  rest,  the  dusk  sink- 
ing deeper  and  stiller  over  the  mountains  in 
their  horizon,  and  the  crags  near  at  hand 
growing  whiter,  huger,  and  almost  spectral, 
and  the  quick  footsteps  of  the  horses  alone 
sounding  through  the  waste,  or  mingling  in 
echoes  with  the  rush  of  distant  waters,  he 
could  have  fancied  that  his  senses  were  deceiv- 
ing him ;  that  he  should  awake  and  find  this 
vision,  so  full  of  sadness  and  of  rapture,  only  a 
dream-picture,  a  pageant  of  the  mind. 

"  But  is  it  really  you  ? "  whispered  he, 
with  melting  heart  in  the  ear  of  his  loved  one, 
as  he  approached  her  for  a  moment.  "  Is  it 


WOT  TON   REIN  FRED.  jprjj 

really  you,  the  Jane  whom  I  have  sat  with 
and  talked  with  of  old  ?  For  here  in  the  wiz- 
ard solitude,  I  begin  to  doubt  it,  and  feel  that 
I  were  too  happy." 

"  God  knows,"  said  she,  "  times  are  altered, 
and  we  with  them ;  but  surely  I  was  once 
Jane  Montagu,  and  had  a  friend  called  Rein- 
fred.  That  you  may  believe." 

The  two  horsemen  were  silent  also,  or 
spoke  only  at  intervals,  and  of  their  distance 
from  the  town,  the  qualities  of  the  road,  or 
the  rare  performance  of  their  horses.  In  an- 
other hour  the  foreground  of  the  scene  grew 
darker,  and  the  track  began  to  slope.  At  last, 
far  down,  rose  the  light  of  the  burgh,  gleam- 
ing peacefully  in  hospitable  sheen  against  the 
sky,  like  a  beacon  to  the  wayfarer.  Our  party 
descended  into  the  valley,  and  soon  a  smooth 
shady  road  conducted  them  to  paved  streets 
and  their  inn. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

JANE  MONTAGU  had  with  brief  good- 
night retired  directly  to  her  apartment,  an 
example  which  her  two  attendants,  wearied 
by  a  hard  day's  journey,  seemed  not  disin- 
clined to  follow.  Their  supper  with  our 
friend  was  short,  and  in  regard  to  table-talk, 
laborious  rather  than  exhilarating  ;  they  yet 
knew  not  rightly  on  what  footing  he  was  to 
stand,  or  how  far  he  might  safely  be  admitted 
to  their  secrets,  so  that  cheerfulness  and  trust- 
ful communing  gave  place  on  all  hands  to  po- 
liteness and  cautious  generalities.  From  their 
conversation,  which  he  could  but  watch,  not 
lead,  he  had  gathered  only  that  they  were 
naval  officers,  that  Jaspar  the  elder  and  blunter 
of  the  two,  was  in  fact  the  cousin  of  Jane, 
with  whose  character  and  late  history,  how- 
ever, he  appeared  nowise  personally  familiar, 


WOTTON  REIN  FRED.  i*jy 

nor  did  either  he  or  Elton  his  comrade  seem 
to  be  her  lover,  though  in  her  fortunes  both 
testified  a  true  interest.  For  the  rest,  the 
party  was  evidently  in  a  state  resembling 
flight,  though  whence  or  whither  was  not  so 
much  as  hinted,  only  a  pressing  entreaty  for 
silence  and  concealment  taught  Wotton  that 
they  still  reckoned  themselves  within  the 
sphere  of  pursuit,  and  dreaded  being  over- 
taken as  a  great  evil.  To  their  request  he 
gave  a  strict  and  prompt  assent,  and  so  with 
expressions  of  good  will,  and  of  hopes  that 
what  was  dark  would  to  the  happiness  of  all 
become  light,  the  company  broke  up,  and 
Wotton  like  the  strangers  withdrew  to  his 
room. 

From  the  servants  he  had  learned  that 
Bernard  was  in  the  town,  nay  at  that  very 
hour  in  the  inn,  but  to  speak  to  him,  much 
as  he  had  longed  for  it,  he  now  carefully 
avoided.  What  could  he  speak  of,  when  all 
concerns  were  swallowed  up  in  one,  of  which 
he  could  not  yet  divine  the  mystery,  or  thou- 
sandfold importance,  and  must  not  even  whis- 


178  WOTTON  RE  IN  FRED. 

per  his  surmises  ?  But  what,  now  in  his  seclu- 
sion, was  he  to  think  of  this  strange  day  ? 
What  had  befallen  Jane  Montagu,  that  she 
was  crossing  the  mountains,  a  fugitive,  encom- 
passed with  anxieties,  and  under  such  dubious 
escort?  The  men  seemed  honourable  men, 
and  of  the  friendliest  feelings  to  her ;  but 
whither  was  she  hastening  with  them,  what 
was  she  flying  or  in  search  of  ?  Was  it  in  fear 
or  hope ;  was  she  driven  or  allured  ?  To  all 
which  questions,  with  the  utmost  strain  of  his 
invention,  he  could  answer  nothing,  but  he 
only  in  baffled  efforts  at  conjecture  increased 
the  weariness  which  was  already  stealing  over 
him  like  the  advance  of  night. 

Did  she  love  another,  then ;  did  she  trust 
another  more  than  him  ?  Her  manner  had 
been  kind,  confiding,  nay  for  moments  almost 
tender.  No !  She  did  not  love  another ! 
Gracious  Heaven  !  She  still  loved  him  !  And 
was  she  unfortunate  ?  Did  she  need  his  help  ? 
Could  he  assist  her;  could  his  heart,  his  life 
have  value  to  her  ?  And  this  thought,  like  a 
little  point  of  splendour,  by  degrees  tinged  in 


WOT  TON  REINFRED.  179 

wild  hues  of  beauty  the  whole  chaos  of  his 
mind ;  the  cruel  became  meek,  the  impossible 
easy ;  all  harsh  discordant  shapes,  expanding 
into  infinitude,  coalesced  in  friendly  union 
and  his  spirit  sank  into  sleep  as  into  a  sea  of 
many-coloured  lights. 

At  an  early  hour  he  awoke  from  vague 
gorgeous  dreams,  but  depressed  and  heavy- 
laden,  and  with  the  feeling  of  a  man  who  has 
much  to  do  and  suffer.  Looking  forth  from 
his  window  across  the  wide  courtyard  with  its 
grooms  in  their  miscellaneous  occupation,  he 
observed  in  the  alleys  of  the  garden,  two  men 
walking  to  and  fro  and  earnestly  conversing, 
one  of  whom  he  directly  recognised  for  Ber- 
nard. The  air  of  his  friend  seemed  anxious 
and  busy ;  he  was  bent  forward  and  moving 
his  hand  as  in  the  endeavour  to  persuade, 
while  his  companion,  apparently  a  man  of 
rank,  seemed  listening  kindly  rather  than  re- 
plying. Wotton  drew  back,  for  at  present  he 
dreaded  interruptions  even  from  Bernard. 

He  was  scarcely  dressed,  when  a  servant 
whom  he  had  summoned  for  some  other  pur- 


180  WOTTON  REIN  FRED. 

pose  delivered  him  a  note.  The  handwriting 
Wotton  knew  of  old,  it  was  Jane  Montagu's ! 
"  To  Wotton  Reinfred,  Esquire."  He  opened 
and  read  : 

"  A  new  day  has  risen,  and  like  the  Wan- 
dering Jew  I  must  again  set  forth  with  the 
morning.  Come  and  wish  me  good  speed  ere 
I  go  !  A  strange  chance  restored  me  a  friend, 
and  in  two  hours  I  must  part  with  him,  per- 
haps for  ever." 

Wotton  made  no  loitering ;  in  a  few  min- 
utes, with  proper  guidance  and  announcement, 
he  found  himself  in  a  trim,  quiet,  little  parlour, 
where  Jane  Montagu,  already  in  her  travel- 
ling attire,  received  him  with  smiles,  beautiful 
in  their  sadness  as  a  cloudy  summer  morn. 
Both  parties  looked  embarrassed,  as  they  nat- 
urally felt,  while  there  was  so  much  demand- 
ing utterance,  and  no  words  in  which  it  could 
be  uttered.  What  change  since  these  two 
had  last  met  face  to  face !  What  a  chasm 
now  separated  them,  over  which  in  the  pale 
dusk  of  memory,  hovered  past  joys,  mourn- 
fully beckoning  them  from  afar,  and  as  if 


WOT  TON  REIN  FRED.  igl 

weeping  that  there  was  no  return !  Those 
times  were  now  gone,  that  blissful  community 
of  life  had  been  all  rent  asunder,  and  yet  still 
her  right  hand  was  in  his,  and  they  again 
stood  near  in  space,  though  in  relation  so 
widely  divided  !  A  tear  was  gathering  in  the 
bright  eyes  of  Jane,  which  she  fixed  on  the 
ground,  and  through  Wotton's  heart  were 
quivering  wild  tones  of  remembrance  and 
hope,  wailing  as  of  infinite  grief,  and  touches 
of  rapture  rising  almost  to  pain.  He  gazed 
silently  on  that  loved  form  ;  there  was  no  mo- 
tion in  her  hand,  but  she  timidly  raised  her 
face,  where  over  soft,  quick  blushes  tears  were 
stealing  and  next  moment,  neither  knew  how 
it  was,  but  his  arms  were  round  her,  and  her 
bosom  was  on  his,  and  in  the  first  pure  heav- 
enly kiss  of  love  two  souls  were  melted  into 
one. 

It  was  but  for  a  moment.  She  sharply,  al- 
most angrily  withdrew  herself  and  cried,  hid- 
ing her  face  :  "  Forbear,  sir !  If  you  hope  to 
see  me  another  minute,  no  more  of  this ! " 
Wotton  stood  confounded  at  his  rashness,  yet 


!82  WOTTON  RE  IN  FRED. 

glorying  in  its  celestial  fruit :  he  attempted  in 
broken  words  to  apologise. 

"  Beware,  sir !  "  said  she.  "  It  was  not  to 
hear  love  declarations,  which  I  must  not  lis- 
ten to,  that  I  sent  for  you  hither.  My  life  is 
made  for  sterner  stuff;  they  are  far  other 
tasks  that  await  me.  Alas ! "  continued  she, 
"  I  have  no  friend  in  this  world,  if  you  be  my 
lover.  I  am  an  unhappy  girl,  an  orphan  wan- 
derer !  "  she  burst  into  weeping. 

"  Jane  Montagu  !  "  said  Wotton,  in  a  voice 
striving  to  be  calm,  "  I  have  hoped,  I  have 
wished  for  no  other  happiness,  but  to  be  your 
friend  and  brother  through  all  time.  If  there 
was  ever  any  vestige  of  goodness  in  me,  be- 
lieve that  I  am  yours,  to  live  and  die  for  you 
as  you  shall  desire.  Weak,  unworthy  I  am, 
but  not  wicked ;  trust  in  me,  O  trust  in  me ! 
Can  I  betray  your  trust?  Can  I  give  it  in  ex- 
change as  a  thing  less  precious  ?  O  what  else 
could  my  life  have  in  it  worth  keeping !  " 

"  My  wish  and  purpose  is  to  trust  you," 
said  she,  giving  him  her  hand,  which  he  mod- 
estly pressed  to  his  lips.  "  I  am  parting  from 


WOT  TON  REINFRED.  183 

you,  but  I  would  not  part  from  your  good 
wishes,  from  your  estimation.  But  come, 
why  all  this  tragedy  ? "  continued  she,  in  a 
lighter  tone,  and  summoning  a  smile  through 
her  tears.  "  Sit  down,  and  speak  to  me,  for  I 
have  much  to  inquire  and  say,  and  it  will  be 
long  before  we  meet  again." 

"  In  Heaven's  name,"  cried  he,  "  whither 
are  you  going?  Why  did  I  lose  you,  and  in 
what  strange  scenes  have  I  found  you  after 
long  waiting  ?  " 

"  You  have  a  right  to  ask,"  said  she  ;  "  but 
I  cannot  answer  in  a  word.  Have  patience 
with  me ;  I  have  longed  to  tell  you  all ; 
longed  to  unfold  the  sad  perplexities  which 
encompass  me,  to  give  them  voice  and  shape 
to  any  mortal  that  was  not  false-hearted,  who 
if  he  could  not  offer  me  help,  would  faith- 
fully offer  me  pity,  the  solace  of  all  the 
wretched.  I  have  been  alone  in  my  grief, 
alone !  Perhaps  it  were  wiser  to  continue  so, 
but  it  is  otherwise  determined ;  listen  to  me, 
you  shall  hear  all." 

Wotton  sat  in  breathless  attention,  and  the 


1 84  WOTTON  REIN  FRED. 

fair  Jane  with  a  resolute  effort  at  indifference 
and  composure,  thus  proceeded  : 

"  I  might  well  say  with  Macbeth :  My 
May  of  life  is  fallen  into  the  sear  and  yellow 
leaf,  were  it  not  that  little  sunshine  visits  one 
at  any  time,  and  as  for  my  life,  I  think  it  has 
been  cast  in  some  Nova  Zembla  climate, 
where  however  it  might  be  May  by  the  cal- 
endar, by  the  sky  it  was  December.  Bright 
blue  hours  I  have  had  too,  and  one  always 
hopes  the  weather  will  mend  ! 

"  Of  my  childhood  I  can  say  little.  Some- 
thing whispers  me  that  in  the  earlier  part  of 
it  I  was  happier,  for  I  have  faint  recollections 
of  a  pleasant  home  and  kind  nurses,  and  one 
that  used  to  weep  over  me  and  kiss  me,  per- 
haps she  was  my  mother.  But  an  obscure, 
confused  period  succeeds ;  of  which  I  have  no 
remembrance,  except  a  certain  vague  impres- 
sion of  tumult  and  distress ;  and  this  first 
scene  stands  like  some  fair  little  island,  di- 
vided by  wild  seas  from  my  whole  after  life.  I 
had  lost  my  parents,  how  I  have  never  known  ; 
some  baleful  mystery  hangs  over  their  fate,  a 


WOT  TON  REIN  FRED.  185 

gloomy  secret,  which  when  I  have  inquired 
into,  I  have  been  answered  only  in  hints  and 
dark  warnings  to  forbear  inquiring.  Unhappy 
father !  It  seems  he  must  have  died  miser- 
ably, sometimes  I  have  feared  by  his  own  hand. 
And  she  too,  the  good  mother,  she  that 
fondled  me  and  laid  me  on  her  bosom,  was 
for  ever  hid  from  my  eyes.  Alas !  was  she  my 
mother?  or  is  this  also  but  a  dream  which  I 
mistake  for  a  reminiscence  ?  Father  or  mother 
in  truth  I  have  never  known. 

"  You  have  seen  my  aunt,  and  something 
of  her  character,  which  therefore  I  need  not 
describe  at  large.  Surely  I  owe  her  much, 
she  was  my  sole  benefactress ;  herself  a 
widow,  she  found  me  a  helpless  orphan,  for 
with  their  ill-starred  life  the  fortune  of  my  par- 
ents had  also  gone  to  wreck,  and  had  it  not 
been  for  her  affection  I  was  destitute  as  well 
as  orphaned.  Affection  I  may  call  it,  though 
of  a  strange  sort,  and  made  up  of  mere  contra- 
dictions. She  has  shared  her  all  with  me; 
though  poor  she  has  shunned  no  cost  in  pro- 
curing me  instruction  and  improvement,  in- 


1 86  WOTTON  REIN  FRED. 

deed  day  after  day  she  has  watched  over  me 
with  the  solicitude  of  a  mother,  yet  scarcely 
a  day  has  passed  but  I  have  had  to  doubt 
whether  her  feeling  towards  me  was  love  or 
hatred.  In  my  childhood  often  she  would  hold 
me  in  her  arms,  and  gaze  over  me  till  her 
heart  seemed  melting  with  saddest  tender- 
ness, then  all  at  once  I  have  seen  those  swim- 
ming eyes  flash  into  fury,  and  she  would 
spurn  me  from  her  as  an  accursed  thing.  A 
tempestuous  life  we  had  of  it,  and  sore  many 
times  was  my  little  heart  oppressed  and  vexed. 
I  had  none  to  trust  in,  I  wept  in  secret,  and 
were  it  not  that  childhood  is  naturally  forget- 
ful and  inclined  to  joy,  I  must  have  been  often 
quite  wretched. 

"  My  aunt  is  certainly  no  common  person ; 
she  has  the  most  decisive  opinions,  a  firm  and 
speedy  resolve,  high  feelings  also,  indeed  a 
certain  taste  for  all  excellence.  Yet  these  fine 
elements  of  goodness  have  in  her  come  to  no 
good ;  she  is  proud,  vindictive,  jealous,  she 
does  even  kindness  unkindly,  and  her  temper 
is  changeful  as  winter  winds.  It  seems  as  if 


WOTTON  REIN  FRED. 

some  malign  influence  had  passed  over  her  na- 
ture, and  thwarted  into  perverse  direction  so 
many  possibilities  of  virtue.  Poor  lady  !  For 
if  she  makes  others  suffer,  she  herself  suffers 
still  more.  It  is  long  since  I  discovered  that 
she  had  no  happiness,  no  peace,  but  rather  the 
gnawing  of  an  inward  discontent,  which  never 
dies,  and  often  I  have  thought  its  source  lay 
deeper  than  mere  worldly  disappointment. 
Perhaps  her  marriage  was  unfortunate,  she 
will  not  speak  of  it,  she  sternly  avoids  it,  and 
to  Jaspar  her  son  she  shows  less  affection  than 
even  to  me.  Perhaps —  But  alas !  Do  not 
mystery  and  mischance  environ  me  and  gird 
me  round  ?  My  whole  history  is  a  riddle, 
which  he  were  a  cunning  seer  that  could  read 
me !  Disquietude  of  conscience  my  unhappy 
relative  may  have  or  not,  disquietude  of  some 
kind  she  too  evidently  has.  No  system  of  cir- 
cumstances, no  scene,  no  circle  of  society  can 
long  please  her,  nowhere  can  she  take  up  her 
permanent  abode,  but  she  wanders  from  place 
to  place  seeking  that  rest  which  she  knows  be- 
forehand is  not  to  be  found.  Of  late  years  her 


!88  WOTTON  REINFRED. 

misery  seems  increasing,  there  are  times  when 
she  shrinks  from  human  presence ;  for  days  she 
will  sit  secluded  in  her  room,  refusing  all  sym- 
pathy or  trustful  communication,  and  her  look 
when  it  falls  on  you  is  cruel  and  cold.  Poor 
lady  !  Her  heart  will  break  one  day,  for  she 
is  too  strong-willed  to  end  in  madness. 

"  My  native  place  and  hers  is  this  North  of 
England,  but  directly  on  the  death  of  my  par- 
ents she  retired  with  me  to  Vevey  in  Switz- 
erland, where  she  had  before  resided.  Thus 
French  became  a  second  mother-tongue  to 
me,  and  the  Leman  Lake  and  the  wild  mount- 
ains of  Savoy  are  the  earliest  scenes  of  my 
memory.  Our  way  of  life  here  was  sombre 
enough  ;  except  with  certain  clergy  of  the 
place,  and  one  or  two  sedate  persons  chiefly 
of  literary  habits,  my  aunt  had  no  society  ;  the 
English  travellers  of  whom  many  passed,  she 
carefully  avoided,  nay  repelled  if  they  sought 
her.  Jaspar  was  not  with  us  but  in  England 
at  a  boarding-school ;  one  grave  old  woman 
was  our  only  servant.  Yet  this  solitude  was 
not  lonesome  to  me,  nor  with  all  my  little 


WOTTON  REINFRED. 


189 


griefs  did  I  feel  myself  unhappy.  What  wealth 
is  in  childhood,  how  that  morning  sun  makes 
a  very  desert  beautiful !  One  has  yet  no  con- 
sciousness of  self,  one  is  a  thought,  an  action, 
not  a  thinker  or  an  actor.  They  praised  me 
for  diligence  at  school,  the  whole  world  was 
indeed  a  school  to  me,  where  day  after  day  I 
was  learning  new  wonders,  and  forming  new 
ties  of  love.  What  joy  when  I  could  escape 
to  bound  over  the  meadows  with  my  little  sis- 
ter maidens !  But  still  deeper  joy  I  felt  when 
in  solitary  castle-building  I  shaped  out  the  fu- 
ture, and  saw  myself  not  a  princess  with  kneel- 
ing knights — no,  no  ! — but  a  Corinna,  a  poet- 
ess, an  intellectual  woman  !  For  towards  this 
goal,  whether  by  natural  temper,  or  the  influ- 
ence of  our  literary  visitors,  my  whole  soul 
was  already  bent.  Blame  not  my  mad  whim  ! 
I  cannot  blame  it,  though  I  know  its  empti- 
ness ;  this  poor  vision  has  come  before  me  in 
its  brightness,  and  been  a  city  of  refuge  to  my 
soul  in  all  troublous  seasons.  Vevey  is  still 
dear  to  me,  and  the  great  Mont  Blanc  with 

his  throne  of  glacier-rubies  still  visits  me  in 
13 


1 00  WOT  TON  REIN  FRED. 

sleep  and  shines  in  the  background  of  many  a 
dream. 

"  It  was  not  without  bitter  tears  that  I  left 
this  first  home  and  all  that  I  had  ever  loved 
or  known  in  life.  But  I  was  now  in  my  twelfth 
summer,  and  my  tears  soon  dried,  for  England 
and  London  were  before  me.  What  a  world 
of  hopes !  England  the  land  of  my  nativity, 
where  in  some  lone  churchyard,  which  I  often 
figured,  were  the  graves  of  my  parents,  over 
which  I  should  indeed  weep,  but  tears  so  soft 
and  blessed !  London,  the  city  of  wonders, 
where  I  was  to  see  and  learn  so  much !  My 
heart  leapt  at  the  thought ;  in  spite  of  all  per- 
versities, caprices,  nay  cruelties,  I  was  the  hap- 
piest little  soul  alive.  Not  so  my  aunt ;  her 
gloom  seemed  to  deepen  as  she  approached 
the  English  shore,  and  I  was  more  than  once 
reminded  that  but  for  me  and  my  interests  she 
would  not  have  set  foot  on  it  again,  but  in 
kinder  hours  she  told  me  I  might  now  be  hap- 
pier, if  I  were  good  ;  I  was  to  complete  my 
learning,  by  and  by  I  should  meet  friends, 
be  introduced  to  society,  of  which,  however,  I 


WOT  TON  RE  I  ALFRED.  ig\ 

ought  rather  to  beware  than  expect  much 
good.  I  was  too  young  to  understand  her 
fully,  but  my  images  of  danger  and  enjoyment 
were  alike  gorgeous  and  almost  alike  attract- 
ive, and  her  ideas  I  still  rocked  to  and  fro  on 
the  wildest  waves. 

"  London  fulfilled  neither  my  expectations 
nor  hers.  The  deafening,  never-ceasing  tu- 
mult of  that  monstrous  city,  its  aspect  of 
power  and  splendour  for  a  while  intoxicated 
me,  but  the  charm  of  novelty  wore  off,  and  I 
looked  back  to  my  little  room  at  Vevey,  and 
its  book-shelves  and  rose-festoons  and  studious 
quiet  seemed  doubly  precious.  Of  masters  I 
had  abundance,  but  they  taught  me  only  fe- 
male accomplishments,  and  what  I  most  want- 
ed was  knowledge.  In  public  our  relations, 
gay,  grand  people,  saw  me  and  caressed  me, 
but  I  soon  found  that  their  kindness  was  from 
the  lips  only,  while  in  secret  at  home  I  had 
more  to  suffer  than  ever.  My  aunt  had  be- 
come a  stranger  among  her  kindred,  in  every 
circle  her  place  had  long  ago  been  filled  up, 
or  rather  in  so  many  years  of  absence  the  cir- 


192  WOTTON  RE  IN  FRED. 

cle  itself  had  disappeared,  and  now  she  saw 
herself  superfluous,  nay  it  may  be  regarded 
with  distrust,  for  her  way  of  life  had  long  been 
involved  in  a  certain  mystery,  from  which  it 
was  not  difficult  for  many  to  draw  spiteful  in- 
ferences. She  felt  all  this  and  smarted  under 
it  in  her  proud  spirit.  I  too  was  unhappy. 
Alas !  I  was  now  awakening  to  life,  I  was  now 
looking  on  the  world  with  my  own  eyes,  and 
sad  enough  were  my  surveys  and  forecastings ! 
I  saw  myself  alone ;  I  saw  my  aunt,  as  she  was, 
desolate,  gloomy,  if  not  malignant ;  sometimes 
I  secretly  accused  her,  sometimes  I  almost 
hated  her,  this  aunt  that  had  been  a  mother  to 
me.  I  was  still  gay,  sportful,  but  no  longer 
from  the  heart,  which,  when  I  thought  of  it, 
was  often  full  of  fear  and  sorrow.  The  future 
lay  before  me,  so  vast,  so  solemn,  and  often  all 
gloomy ;  except  in  my  darling  vision,  my  old 
dream  of  intellectual  greatness,  I  had  no 
strength  or  stay,  and  this  was  but  a  trembling 
hope  which  I  hid  from  every  one  almost  as  a 
guilty  thought.  The  fate  of  literary  women, 
the  ridicule  I  saw  cast  on  them  had  grieved 


WOT  TON  RE  IN  FRED.  193 

me  deeply,  yet  in  the  end  nowise  effaced  my 
first  project ;  nay  perhaps,  for  there  is  a  spirit 
of  contradiction  in  us,  rather  added  strength 
to  it.  Foolish  girl!  But  soon  I  had  more 
pressing  matters  to  reflect  on. 

"We  left  London  finally  after  a  residence 
of  three  years ;  my  aunt  mortified  and  dis- 
dainful ;  I  neither  glad  nor  sorry  at  the 
change  which,  indeed,  I  foresaw  would  not  be 
lasting,  for  dissatisfaction  and  unrest  had  now 
taken  firm  hold  of  my  unhappy  relative  ;  she 
had  ceased  to  be  devout,  she  was  at  once  vio- 
lent and  aimless,  and  bad  days  seemed  to 
await  me  beside  her  wherever  we  might  live. 
It  was  in  the  south  of  Wales,  whither  a  pleas- 
ant situation  and  some  distant  connections  in 
the  neighbourhood  had  invited  her,  that  we 
next  settled.  Our  way  of  life  here  you  can 
figure :  why  should  I  trouble  you  with  the 
poor  repetition  of  frivolity  and  spleen  which 
with  only  superficial  varieties  now  this  now 
that  new  abode  has  witnessed  ?  One  circum- 
stance there  is,  however,  which  makes  these 
scenes  for  ever  memorable  to  me.  It  was 


194  WOT  TON  RE  IN  FRED. 

here  that  I  first  saw  the  being  whom  I  may 
justly  call  my  evil  genius ;  for  since  that  hour 
his  influence  has  pursued  me  only  to  my  hurt, 
and  still  hangs  like  a  baleful  shadow  over  my 
whole  life.  Oh,  my  friend  !  This  man,  this 
demon  !  Why  did  he  ever  behold  me  ?  Why 
must  the  black,  wasting  whirlwind  of  his  life 
snatch  him  into  its  course  ?  But  I  will  be 
calm. 

"  Edmund  Walter,  the  first  time  I  saw  him, 
thought  right  to  treat  me  with  a  distinction 
which  could  not  but  be  visible  to  everyone. 
It  was  a  rather  numerous  assembly :  Walter 
was  among  the  cynosures  of  the  night,  and 
perhaps  the  poor  bashful  girl  was  somewhat 
envied  such  attention.  In  my  own  mind,  God 
knows,  it  caused  little  joy :  on  the  contrary, 
this  man  with  all  his  pomp  and  plausibility  of 
aspect  was  positively  distressing  to  me,  or  if 
I  had  for  the  moment  some  touch  of  female 
vanity  in  his  flatteries,  I  received  them  but  as 
fairy-money  and  with  a  half-criminal  feeling, 
for  dread  and  aversion,  as  to  a  wicked  soul, 
were  my  impressions  of  him  from  the  first. 


WOT  TON  RE  IN  FRED.  195 

My  impressions,  however,  it  appeared,  were 
not  to  regulate  our  intercourse ;  nay,  perhaps 
this  indifference,  this  repulsion,  accustomed 
as  he  was  to  prevail  over  all  hearts,  rather 
piqued  him  into  new  assiduity.  He  followed 
me,  at  least — followed  me  from  that  hour  with 
continual  civilities,  the  more  questionable  as 
they  could  not  be  rejected,  for  so  dextrously 
did  he  go  to  work  that  his  conduct  expressed 
at  once  everything  and  nothing,  wavered  like 
a  changing  colour ;  seen  on  this  side,  all  soft- 
ness and  beguilement ;  on  that,  mere  acquaint- 
anceship and  common  social  courtesy.  With 
such  craft  was  he  studying  to  spin  his  nets 
about  me,  but  it  profited  him  little.  If  for 
moments  I  might  trust  to  the  voice  of  his 
charming,  and  feel  only  that  a  person  of  such 
talents  and  commanding  energy  was  profit- 
able as  a  transient  companion,  especially  to 
one  who  had  so  few  that  could  instruct  her  in 
aught,  I  failed  not  with  all  my  inexperience  to 
see  habitually  what  and  how  dangerous  was 
our  true  relation,  nay,  the  more  his  conver- 
sation pleased,  instructed,  fascinated  me,  the 


196  WOT  TON  RE  IN  FRED. 

stronger  in  my  mind  grew  a  dim  persuasion 
that  he  was  selfish  and  worthless,  that  it  be- 
hoved me  to  break  off  from  him,  once  for  all 
to  be  open  and  decided  and,  with  whatever 
violation  of  ceremony,  for  ever  forbid  him  my 
presence.  This,  indeed,  had  I  been  mistress 
of  my  own  actions,  I  should  have  done. 

"  But  my  aunt  said  nay,  and  my  part  was 
submission.  Her  conduct  in  regard  to  this 
man  had  all  along  been  a  puzzle  to  me.  At 
first  she  vehemently  objected  to  him,  received 
his  visits  with  coldness,  sometimes  scarcely 
even  with  a  polished  coldness;  it  was  plain 
that  she  watched  for  opportunities  of  hurting 
him — that  she  strove,  by  all  means  short  of 
open  incivility,  to  harass  him  into  retreat. 
Nevertheless,  he  was  not  to  be  so  baffled  : 
with  a  strange  patience  he  submitted  to  her 
injuries,  or  by  cunning  turns  of  courtesy 
evaded  them,  and  so  persevered  with  a  thou- 
sand wiles  in  paying  court  to  her,  that  by  de- 
grees he  insinuated  himself  into  tolerance, 
nay,  ere  long  into  highest  favour.  By  what 
new  arts  he  had  effected  this  I  knew  not,  but 


WOTTON  RE  IN  FRED.  igf 

so  it  was,  for  the  two  were  evidently  on  the 
most  trustful  footing ;  they  had  private  inter- 
views, the  purport  of  which  I  did  not  learn ; 
only  I  could  see  by  abundant  symptoms  that 
secrets  were  between  them — secrets  of  what 
they  reckoned  weighty  import,  and  from  which 
it  seemed  I  was  to  be  carefully  shut  out. 

"  This  mystery  surprised  and  sometimes 
alarmed  me ;  I  hate  mystery  at  all  times,  and 
in  the  present  case  I  had  signs  that  it  con- 
cerned myself.  My  aunt  had  now  changed 
her  dialect  with  regard  to  Walter ;  she  no 
longer  spoke  of  him  with  bitterness,  but  zeal- 
ously, with  affection,  nay,  with  admiration. 
She  daily  introduced  the  topic ;  asked  my 
opinion  of  this  and  that  feature  in  his  char- 
acter ;  defended  him  where  I  disliked,  and 
warmly  confirmed  my  judgment  when  it  was 
favourable.  She  descanted  at  large  on  his 
looks,  his  talent,  his  manliness  of  mind ;  the 
polished  strength,  the  elegance,  the  perfect 
nobleness  of  his  whole  bearing — in  short, 
whatever  quality  she  knew  me  to  approve  of, 
with  that  in  full  measure  she  strove  to  invest 


I98  WOT  TON  REINFRED. 

him.  I  had  much  to  object ;  I  failed  not  to 
point  out  in  contrast  her  own  prior  view  of 
him.  She  owned  that  she  had  been  mistaken  ; 
a  fair  outside  was  not  always  a  false  one ;  she 
understood  this  man  better  than  I  and  could 
answer  for  his  integrity,  nay,  more,  for  his  in- 
tentions towards  myself,  which  she  had  at  first 
doubted,  but  now  knew  to  be  generous.  As 
she  saw  me  shrink  from  such  applications,  she 
did  not  pursue  them,  but  talked  in  general  of 
the  charms  of  wealth  and  high  station,  and 
how  precious  it  was  to  be  loved  for  one's  own 
sake.  The  drift  of  all  this  I  could  not  but  di- 
vine ;  in  fact,  her  whole  being  seemed  pos- 
sessed with  the  project ;  a  glad  animation 
sparkled  in  her  looks  when  she  spoke  of  it,  a 
hope  and  ardour  such  as  I  had  never  seen 
there  before. 

"  Of  my  own  feelings  on  the  matter  I  could 
give  little  account.  By  such  influence,  with 
which  his  own  treatment  of  me  skilfully  co- 
operated, a  sort  of  false  glory  had  been 
thrown  round  this  man ;  yet  surely,  thought 
I,  this  is  not  love  ?  For  I  felt,  or  might  have 


WOTTON  REINFRED.  igg 

felt,  that  I  feared  and  did  not  trust  him,  that 
we  were  still  divided,  must  for  ever  be  di- 
vided. The  thought  of  wedding  him  was 
frightful  to  me,  but  his  asking  me  to  wed  him 
seemed  a  thing,  with  all  the  hints  I  had  heard 
of  it,  so  utterly  unlikely  that  it  gave  me  little 
trouble.  On  the  whole  I  was  mazed,  dazzled, 
and  knew  only  that  in  this  bewilderment  I 
knew  nothing. 

"  Walter  disappointed  my  calculations ;  in 
a  letter  full  of  cunning  rhetoric  he  declared 
himself  my  lover,  and  offered  me  his  hand  ; 
my  aunt  had  already  given  her  consent,  and 
he  waited  only  for  mine  to  be  the  happiest  of 
living  mortals !  What  could  I  do  ?  what  could 
I  say  ?  I  wept  and  sobbed,  for  there  was  a 
fearful  contradiction  within  me.  On  the  one 
side  lay  a  life  of  dependence  and  chagrin,  now 
threatening  to  become  more  galling  than 
ever,  without  sympathy,  without  a  friend,  but 
one  relative  whom  by  my  refusal  I  should  bit- 
terly afflict,  nay,  as  it  seemed,  I  should  rob  of 
her  last  earthly  hope ;  and  here,  on  the  other 
side,  stood  the  tempter,  bright  and  joyful, 


200  WOTTON  REIN  FRED. 

stretching  forth  his  hand  and  beckoning  me 
with  smiles  to  a  scene  so  different !  A  man 
who  loved  me,  of  so  many  graces,  too,  and 
really  splendid  endowments  !  For  some  in- 
stants I  could  have  yielded,  but  a  secret 
voice,  in  tones  faint,  yet  inexpressibly  earnest, 
warned  me  that  he  was  false  and  cruel,  that 
it  should  not  and  must  not  be.  This  warning 
I  at  last  resolved,  come  what  come  might,  to 
obey. 

"  After  two  sleepless  nights,  and  days  ex- 
posed to  a  thousand  influences  of  intreaty, 
menace,  and  persuasion,  I  rose  with  a  decid- 
edness  of  purpose  such  as  I  had  never  before 
felt ;  briefly,  in  words  as  distinct  as  were  con- 
sistent with  politeness,  I  penned  my  refusal, 
and,  without  speaking  a  word,  laid  the  note 
before  my  aunt.  Contrary  to  expectation  she 
showed  no  anger,  but  only  sorrow ;  she  wept 
and  kissed  me  ;  said  that  my  happiness  was 
hers ;  that  if  I  so  wished  it,  so  it  should  be. 
Such  tenderness  melted  me ;  I  burst  into  tears 
and  expressed  in  passionate  language  my  un- 
happiness  at  distressing  her.  She  renewed 


WOTTON  RE  IN  FRED.  2Oi 

her  caresses  and  encouragement,  only  at  the 
same  time  hinting  as  a  question ;  if  perhaps 
my  note  was  not  too  vigorously  worded  ? 
Why  should  we  offend  a  man  so  powerful,  so 
friendly  to  us?  Were  it  not  better  if  I  ex- 
cused myself  on  simply  the  score  of  youth, 
and,  without  peremptory  denial,  left  the  mat- 
ter to  die  away  of  itself  and  Walter  to  change 
imperceptibly  by  force  of  time  from  a  lover 
into  a  friend  ?  Eager  for  conciliation,  glad  by 
any  means  to  purchase  peace  for  the  present, 
I  consented  ;  in  an  unlucky  hour  the  new  let- 
ter was  written  and  despatched ;  and  so  the 
evil  which  I  should  have  fronted  when  it 
came,  postponed  into  vague  distance,  where 
it  gathered  fresh  wrath  against  me  for  a 
future  day. 

"  Walter  renewed  his  visits  almost  as  if 
nothing  had  happened,  only  glancing  once 
and  from  afar  at  the  occurrence,  to  which  he 
adroitly  contrived  to  give  a  light  turn,  so  that 
matters  soon  settled  on  their  old  footing,  and  I 
blessed  myself  that  the  storm  was  blown  over. 
Of  love  for  me  he  had  never  spoken  and  did 


202  WOT  TON  RE  IN  FRED. 

not  now  speak,  but  strove  rather  with  all  his 
resources,  which  were  nowise  inconsiderable, 
to  make  our  conversation  generally  interesting 
and  profitable  in  particular  for  my  intellectual 
culture,  which  he  saw  well  was  the  object  I 
had  most  at  heart.  By  such  means  my  suspi- 
cions were  certainly  quieted  if  not  dispersed  ; 
I  again  began  to  look  on  him  with  some 
degree  of  satisfaction,  at  least,  with  thankful- 
ness for  what  he  taught  me  ;  nor  could  I  hide 
from  myself  that  dubious,  nay,  repulsive  as  his 
inward  nature  might  appear  to  me,  I  had  seen 
few  men  of  such  endowments,  few  who  had 
so  quickened  my  faculties,  and  though  with 
somewhat  alien  influence,  given  me  so  many 
new  ideas  and  so  much  incitement  to  improve. 
"  In  this  favourable  mood  he  left  us,  his 
regiment  being  ordered  to  the  North,  where 
it  was  to  be  reduced,  perhaps  broken.  He 
took  his  leave  quietly,  with  friendliness,  but  no 
show  of  tenderness,  and  in  the  manner  of  a 
man  who  hoped  yet  without  anxiety  to  meet 
us  again.  War,  he  observed,  was  a  trade  for 
the  present  as  good  as  ruined,  and  of  which  at 


WOTTON  REIN  FRED.  203 

any  rate  one  would  in  time  grow  tired  ;  he 
had  thoughts  of  slackening  his  connection 
with  the  army  and  settling  on  his  own  soil ; 
who  knew  but  the  Cincinnatus,  when  his 
sword  had  become  a  ploughshare,  might 
tempt  his  fair  hostesses  to  a  long  journey,  or 
at  least  meet  them  in  their  wayfarings  and  re- 
new the  memory  of  so  many  happy  days  ?  In 
this  fashion  we  parted  ;  with  my  aunt  he  was 
in  dearer  esteem  than  ever;  even  I  could  not 
but  wish  him  good  speed,  and  sometimes 
afterwards  not  without  regret  contrast  his 
sprightly  sense  with  the  laborious,  often  mali- 
cious, inanity  of  most  that  remained  in  my 
sphere  behind  him. 

"  A  brisk  correspondence  had  commenced 
between  my  aunt  and  Walter,  in  which  she 
seemed  to  find  her  chief,  or  rather,  sole  pleas- 
ure, for  ever  since  his  departure  a  double  dis- 
content had  settled  over  her.  About  this  time 
Jaspar,  her  son,  paid  us  his  first  visit ;  a  gay, 
rather  boisterous,  but  on  the  whole  true- 
hearted  young  man;  with  him,  as  with  the 
only  one  of  my  relations  who  had  ever  shown 


204  WOTTEN  RE  IN  FRED. 

me  much  affection,  I  by  degrees  established  a 
pleasant  friendship,  which  has  remained  un- 
broken through  various  vicissitudes,  and  now, 
indeed,  forms  my  last  confidence  in  the  fu- 
ture. His  regiment  had  returned  from  India, 
where  he  had  fought  and  wandered,  of  all 
which  he  had  much  to  tell  us,  or  rather,  to  tell 
me,  for  his  mother  manifested  little  interest  in 
this  or  aught  that  concerned  him,  and,  strange 
as  it  may  seem,  her  own  only  child  had  now 
come  to  see  her,  for  the  second  time  since  in- 
fancy, not  by  her  solicitation,  but  by  her  con- 
sent, and  that  unwillingly  bestowed.  Of  these 
things  he  sometimes  complained  to  me,  yet 
with  pity  towards  his  mother  rather  than  with 
anger ;  indeed,  my  cousin  is  of  so  jocund,  buoy- 
ant a  temper  that  nothing  painful  abides  with 
him. 

"Walter  he  knew  by  old  acquaintance; 
they  had  been  fellow-students  at  the  military 
college,  but  as  Jaspar  spoke  of  him  with  dis- 
like, the  mother,  to  avoid  quarrels,  rarely 
mentioned  this  subject,  and  to  me  it  was  now 
become  well-nigh  indifferent.  Jaspar  and  I 


WOTTON  REIN  FRED,  20$ 

had  family  concerns  and  much  that  interested 
both  to  talk  of.  On  the  history  of  my  par- 
ents he  could  throw  no  light,  but  he  won- 
dered with  me  at  my  aunt's  mysterious  si- 
lence ;  encouraged  me  under  so  many  pain- 
ful circumstances,  and  often  with  unusual 
warmth  declared  that  he  would  be  a  friend 
and  brother  to  me  always,  befal  what  might. 
I  had  never  had  a  brother,  but  I  felt  towards 
this  man  something  like  what  a  sister  may 
feel.  Undistinguished  by  any  great  quality, 
nay,  with  many  faults  and  a  certain  coarse- 
ness of  nature,  he  was  good  and  kind  to  me, 
and  in  his  company  I  felt  so  glad  and  safe,  so 
affectionate  yet  so  calm !  These  five  weeks 
flew  away  too  quickly ;  my  new  brother  left 
us  and  I  again  remained  alone,  my  aunt  by 
some  unaccountable  perversity  refusing  even 
to  let  me  correspond  with  him. 

"Her  days  were  indeed  become  days  of 
darkness ;  she  was  wasting  in  unexplained 
sorrows ;  her  soul  wrapt  up  in  mystery  and 
often  also  in  the  terrors  and  mortifications  of 

superstition ;  she  felt  no  hope  in  life,  no  sym- 
14 


2O6  WOTTON  REIN  FRED. 

pathy  with  the  living.  With  the  social  circle 
of  our  neighbourhood  she  was  displeased,  her- 
self likewise  displeasing,  and  had  almost 
ceased  to  correspond  ;  except  when  she  heard 
of  this  stranger,  her  face  was  seldom  bright- 
ened with  any  smile.  What  I  suffered  from 
her  why  should  I  describe  to  you?  But  I 
foresaw  that  s©me  change  of  place  would 
soon  follow,  and  with  it  perhaps  some  allevia- 
tion. Meanwhile  I  kept  retired  within  my 
old  fortress,  where,  quiet  and  diligent,  I  felt 
as  if  for  the  sake  of  knowledge  I  could  suffer 
all  this  and  much  more. 

"  What  I  had  anticipated  failed  not  to  hap- 
pen. Early  next  spring  we  moved  north- 
wards, and  after  a  short  residence  among 
these  fells,  still  farther  northwards  into  Scot- 
land to  the  spot  you  know  so  well !  Dear 
land ! " 


EXCURSION   (FUTILE  ENOUGH) 
TO   PARIS; 

AUTUMN  1851: 

THROWN  ON  PAPER,  WHEN  GALLOPING, 
FROM  SATURDAY  TO  TUESDAY,  OCTOBER  4-7,  1851. 


Chelsea,  Oct.  4,  1851. — The  day  before  yes- 
terday, near  midnight  (Thursday,  Oct.  2)  I  re- 
turned from  a  very  short  and  insignificant  ex- 
cursion to  Paris ;  which,  after  a  month  at 
Malvern  Water-cure  and  then  a  ten  days  at 
Scotsbrig,  concludes  my  travel  for  this  year. 
Miserable  puddle  and  tumult  all  my  travels 
are,  of  no  use  to  me,  except  to  bring  agitation, 
sleeplessness,  horrors  and  distress !  Better 
not  to  travel  at  all  unless  when  I  am  bound  to 
it.  But  this  tour  to  Paris  was  a  promised 
one ;  I  had  engaged  to  meet  the  Ashburtons 
(Lord  and  Lady)  there  on  their  return  from 
Switzerland  and  Homburg,  before  either  party 
left  London :  the  times  at  last  suited ;  all  was 


Copyright,  1891,  by  D.  Appleton  and  Company. 


2O8  EXCURSION   TO  PARIS. 

ready  except  will  on  my  part ;  so,  after  hesi- 
tation and  painful  indecision  enough,  I  did  re- 
solve, packed  my  baggage  again,  and  did  the 
little  tour  I  stood  engaged  for.  Nothing 
otherwise  could  well  be  more  ineffectual, 
more  void  of  entertainment  to  me ;  but,  in 
fine,  it  is  done,  and  I  am  safe  at  home  again. 
Being  utterly  weary,  broken-down,  and  unfit 
for  any  kind  of  work,  I  will  throw  down  my 
recollections  of  that  sorry  piece  of  travel,  then 
fold  the  sheet  or  sheets  together,  and  dismiss 
the  business.  Allans  done.  I  will  date,  and  be 
precise,  so  far  as  I  am  able. 

Monday,  Sept.  21. — Brother  John  still  here ; 
he  and  I  went  to  Chorley  to  consult  about 
passports,  routes,  conditions,  the  journey  be- 
ing now,  and  not  till  now,  resolved  upon. 
John  was  to  set  out  for  Yorkshire  and  Annan- 
dale  on  the  morrow,  and  so  had  special  busi- 
ness of  his  own  to  attend  to.  For  me  Chor- 
ley recommended  the  route  by  Dieppe  and 
Rouen ;  got  me  at  the  Reform  Club  a  note  of 
the  packet  and  railway  times  (the  former  of 
which  proved  to  be  in  error  somewhat) ;  could 


EXCURSION   TO  PARIS.  209 

say  nothing  definite  of  passports.  We  are 
consulting  Elliott  at  the  Colonial  Office.  I 
was  instantly  taken  across  to  the  Foreign  Of- 
fice, close  by  in  Downing  Street,  and  there  for 
7-y.  6d.  got  a  passport,  which,  in  spite  of  ru- 
mours and  surmises,  proved  abundantly  suffi- 
cient. Did  no  more  that  day  that  I  can  re- 
member. Next  morning  early  John  awoke 
me,  shook  hands,  and  rapidly  went,  leaving  me 
to  my  own  reflections  and  opposite  of 

the  sky.  How  we  come  and  go  in  this  world  ! 
A  rumour  had  arisen  that  my  passport  would 
require  to  be  visaed  (if  that  is  the  word) ;  that 
I  must  go  to  the  City  for  this  end  ;  that,  etc. : 
I  called  on  Chorley  to  consult ;  Chorley,  his 
old  mother  having  fallen  suddenly  ill,  could 
not  get  away  to  see  me  even  for  a  minute  : 
laziness  said,  however,  "  Not  to  the  City, 
don't ! "  At  Chapman's  shop,  I  learned  that 
Robert  Browning  (poet)  and  his  wife  were 
just  about  setting  out  for  Paris :  I  walked  to 
their  place — had  during  that  day  and  the  fol- 
lowing, consultations  with  these  fellow  pil- 
grims ;  and  decided  to  go  with  them,  by 


2io  EXCURSION   TO  PARIS. 

Dieppe,  on  Thursday ;  Wednesday  had  been 
my  original  day,  but  I  postponed  it  for  the 
sake  of  company  who  knew  the  way.  Such 
rumours,  such  surmises ;  the  air  was  thick 
with  suppositions,  guesses,  cautions ;  each  pub- 
lic office  (Regent's  Circus,  Consul's  House,  or 
elsewhere),  proclaimed  its  own  plans,  denying^ 
much  more  ignoring,  that  there  was  any  other 
plan.  For  very  multitude  of  guide-posts  you 
could  not  find  your  way  !  The  Brownings, 
and  their  experience  and  friendly  qualities, 
were  worth  waiting  for  during  one  day. 
Thursday,  September  24.,  at  10  A.  M.,  I  was  to  be 
at  London  Bridge  Railway  Station  ;  there  in 
person  with  portmanteau,  and  some  English 
sovereigns :  das  Weiter  wiirde  sich  geben. 

Up  accordingly  on  Thursday  morning,  in 
unutterable  flurry  and  tumult  of  humour, — 
phenomena  on  the  Thames,  all  dreamlike,  one 
spectralism  chasing  another ;  to  the  station  in 
good  time ;  found  the  Brownings  just  arriving 
which  seemed  a  good  omen.  Fare  to  Paris, 
22s.,  wonderful ;  thither  and  back  "  by  return 
ticket"  was  but  £1  125.  according  to  this 


EXCURSION   TO  PARIS.  2II 

route — such  had  been  the  effect  on  prices  of 
this  "  Glass  Palace,"  and  the  crowds  attracted 
towards  it.  Browning  with  wife  and  child 
and  maid,  then  I,  then  an  empty  seat  for 
cloaks  and  baskets,  lastly  at  the  opposite  end 
from  me  a  hard-faced,  honest  Englishman  or 
Scotchman,  all  in  grey  and  with  a  grey  cap, 
who  looked  rather  ostrich-like,  but  proved 
very  harmless  and  quiet :  this  was  the  load- 
ing of  our  carriage, — and  so  away  we  went, 
Browning  talking  very  loud  and  with  vi- 
vacity, I  silent  rather,  tending  towards  many 
thoughts.  To  Reigate  the  county  was  more 
or  less  known  to  me.  Beautiful  enough,  still 
green,  the  grey,  cool  light  resting  on  it,  oc- 
casionally broken  by  bursts  of  autumn  sun. 
Some  half-score  miles  from  Brighton  our  road 
diverges  to  the  left ;  we  make  for  "  New- 
haven,"  the  mouth  of  a  small  sea-canal,  divided 
from  Brighton  by  a  pretty  range  of  chalk 
hills.  Chalk  everywhere  showing  itself,  grass 
very  fine  and  green  ;  fringings  of  wood  not  in 
too  great  quantity ;  all  neat,  all  trim,  a  pretty 
enough  bit  of  English  country,  all  English  in 


212  EXCURSION   TO  PARIS. 

character.  Newhaven,  a  new  place,  rising1 
fast  as  "haven"  to  the  railways:  our  big  soli- 
tary inn,  the  main  building  in  it ;  other  dwell- 
ing-houses, coal- w liar ves,  etc.,  chiefly  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  channel,  a  channel  of 
green,  clear  sea-water,  hardly  wider  than  a 
river :  everything  in  a  state  of  English  trim- 
ness,  and  pleasant  to  look  upon  in  the  grey 
wind  while  we  had  nothing  to  do  but  smoke. 
Browning  managed  everything  for  me ;  in- 
deed there  was  as  yet  nothing  to  manage. 
Our  company  numerous,  but  not  quite  a 
crowd ;  mostly  French :  operations  (as  to  lug- 
gage, steamer,  etc.)  all  orderly  and  quiet.  At 
length  perhaps  about  half-past  one,  P.  M.,  we 
got  fairly  under  way. — I  should  have  said,  a 
man  with  religious  tracts,  French,  German, 
English,  came  on  board ;  I  took  from  him  in 
all  the  three  kinds  (which  served  me  well  as 
waste  paper) ;  many  refused,  some  (chiefly  of 
the  English)  with  anger  and  contempt.  On 
the  deck  were  benches  each  with  a  back  and 
hood  covered  with  well-painted  canvas,  im- 
penetrable to  rain  or  wind ;  these  proved 


EXCURSION   TO  PARIS.  213 

very  useful  by-and-by.  Stewards'  assistants 
enough  ;  especially  one  little  French  boy,  in 
fine  blue  clothes  and  cap,  who  was  most  in- 
dustrious among  his  countrywomen ;  bigger 
French  gawky  (very  stupid-looking  fellow 
this)  tried  to  be  useful  too,  but  couldn't  much. 
Our  friends,  especially  our  French  friends, 
were  full  of  bustle,  full  of  noise  at  starting ; 
but  so  soon  as  we  had  cleared  the  little  chan- 
nel of  Newhaven,  and  got  into  the  sea  or 
British  Channel,  all  this  abated,  sank  into  the 
general  sordid  torpor  of  sea-sickness,  with 
its  miserable  noises,  "  Hoahah — hohh  !  "  and 
hardly  any  other  amid  the  rattling  of  the 
wind  and  sea.  A  sorry  phasis  of  humanity. 
Browning  was  sick,  lay  in  one  of  the  bench- 
tents  horizontal,  his  wife,  etc.,  below ;  I  was 
not  absolutely  sick,  but  had  to  lie  quite  quiet, 
and  without  comfort,  save  in  one  cigar  for 
seven  or  eight  hours  of  blustering,  spraying, 
and  occasional  rain.  Amused  myself  with 
French  faces,  and  the  successive  prostration 
of  the  same — prostration  into  doleful  silence, 
then  evanition  into  utter  darkness  under  some 


214  EXCURSION   TO  PARIS. 

bench-tent  whence  was  heard  only  the  "  Hoah- 
hah-hohh  !  "  of  vanquished  despair.  Pretty 
enough  were  several  of  them,  not  perfectly 
like  gentlemen  any  one  of  them : — indeed  that 
character  of  face  I  found  of  the  utmost  rarity 
in  France  generally.  "  Bourgeois,"  in  clean 
clothes,  if  civil,  rather  noisy  manner.  One 
handsome  man  of  forty,  olive  complexion, 
black  big  eyes  and  beard,  velvet  cap  without 
brim,  stood  long  wrapped  in  copious  blue 
cloak,  and  talked  near  me ;  at  length  sank 
silent  and  vanished.  Other,  of  brown  hair 
and  beard,  head  wrapt  in  shawl,  rather  silent 
from  the  first,  protruded  his  under  lip 
in  sick  disgust,  and  vanished  a  little  sooner. 
Third,  of  big  figure,  blind  and  with  specta- 
cles, strikingly  reminded  me  of  Jeffrey  of 
Cierthon  ("  Robin  Jeffrey,"  long  since  dead) : 
he  sat  by  the  gunwale,  spoke  little,  in  prepara- 
tion for  the  worst,  and  staid  there.  Inside 
the  tent-benches  all  was  "  Hoahoh — hohh  ! " 
and  more  sordid  groaning  and  vomiting. 
Blankets  were  procurable  if  you  made  interest. 
Many  once  elegant  Frenchmen  lay  wrapt  in 


EXCURSION   TO  PARIS.  215 

blankets,  huddled  into  any  corner  with  their 
heads  hid.  We  had  some  sharp  brief  showers ; 
darkness  fell ;  nothing  but  the  clank  of  the 
paddles,  raving  of  the  sea,  and  "  Hoah-oh-ho- 
ahh  ! "  Our  Scotch  ostrich  friend  stood  long 
afoot,  hard  as  stick ;  at  length  he  too  disap- 
peared in  the  darkness,  and  we  heard  him  ask- 
ing about  "  Dipe  "  (Dieppe)  whether  it  was  not 
yet  near.  Hard  black  elderly  man  came  to 
smoke  on  the  gunwale  seat,  near  me ;  Cap- 
tain forbade,  stopped  him,  long  foolish  con- 
troversy in  consequence; — this  was  in  day- 
light, and  the  ostrich  had  assisted :  now  it 
was  only  "  Dipe  ?  "  in  the  /th  or  8th  hour  from 
starting.  At  length  lighthouses  appeared, 
and  soon  the  lighthouse  at  the  end  of  Dieppe 
pier;  and  we  bounded  into  smooth  water, 
into  a  broad  basin,  and  saw  houses  and  lamps 
all  round  it.  Towards  nine  P.  M.  by  English 
time: — put  your  watch  forward  a  quarter  of 
an  hour,  for  that  is  French  time  which  you 
have  to  do  with  now. 

Hdtel  de  1'Europe,  near  the  landing  place, 
proved  to  be  a  second-rate  hotel ;  but  we  got 


2i6  EXCURSION   TO  PARIS. 

beds,  a  sitting-room,  and  towards  10  P.  M.  some 
very  bad  cold  tea,  and  colder  coffee.  Brown- 
ing was  out  in  the  Douane :  we  had  all  passed 
our  persons  through  it,  guided  in  by  a  rope- 
barrier,  and  shown  our  passports ;  now 
Browning  was  passing  our  luggage  ;  brought 
it  all  in  safe  about  half-past  ten  ;  and  we  could 
address  ourselves  to  desired  repose.  Walked 
through  some  streets  with  my  cigar:  high 
gaunt  stone  streets  with  little  light  but 
the  uncertain  moon's;  sunk  now  in  the  pro- 
foundest  sleep — at  half-past  ten.  To  bed  in 
my  upper  room,  bemoaned  by  the  sea,  and 
small  incidental  noises  of  the  harbour  ;  slept 
till  four;  smoked  from  the  window,  grey 
cool  morning,  chalk  cliff  with  caves  be- 
yond the  harbour — France  there  and  no 
mistake.  If  France  were  of  much  moment 
to  me  !  Slept  gradually  again,  a  little  while ; 
woke  dreaming,  confused  things  about  my 
mother :  ah,  me !  At  eight  was  on  the  street, 
in  the  clear  sun,  with  my  portmanteau  lying 
packed  behind  me ;  to  be  back  for  breakfast 
at  nine.  Dieppe  harbour  is  the  mouth  of  a 


EXCURSION    TO  PARIS. 

river,  broad  gap  in  the  general  chalk  cliffs 
(bounded  to  east  by  the  chalk  of  "  caves " 
aforesaid ;  westward  it  stretches  into  a  level 
doivn  of  some  extent  beyond  Hotel  de  1'Eu- 
rope  and  the  other  houses) ;  basin  big,  I  know 
not  how  deep,  has  fine  stout  quays,  draw- 
bridges, few,  very  few  ships ;  range  of  high 
quaint  old  houses  border  it  on  two  sides,  the 
west  (ours)  and  south  where  is  a  market  of 
fish,  etc.,  and  then  the  main  part  of  the  town  ; 
eastward  is  innocent  fringed  undulating  green 
country  (cliff  of  "  caves "  goes  but  a  short 
way  inland),  northward  is  the  sea.  Walked 
south,  with  early  cigar,  into  the  interior  of  the 
town.  Good  broad  street  with  trottoirs,  with 
fair  shops,  and  decent-looking  population ; 
very  poor  several  of  them,  but  none  ragged, 
their  old  clothes  all  accurately  patched — a 
thrifty  people.  Ragpickers ;  a  sprinkling  of 
dandies  too ;  London  dandy  of  ten  years  ago, 
with  hands  in  coat  pockets,  and  a  small  stick 
rising  out  from  one  of  them !  Bakers,  naked 
from  the  waist,  all  but  a  flannel  waistcoat  and 
cotton  nightcap ;  horse-collar  loaves  and  of 


2i8  EXCURSION   TO  PARIS. 

other  straighter  cable  shapes,  all  crust  and 
levity.  Streets  of  fair  cleanness,  water  flow- 
ing in  the  gutters.  Beards  abundant.  Rue 
d Ecosse :  thought  of  old  Knox,  how  he  was 
driven  to  "  Deap  "  and  from  it.  A  chdteau, 
with  soldiers,  is  in  the  place,  the  down  is  forti- 
fied, and  shows  big  cannon.  Several  big  old 
churches ;  many  fountains,  at  one  of  which  I 
drank  by  help  of  a  little  girl  and  her  caraffe. 
Besides  the  chief  street  (continuation  of  our 
H6tel  de  1'Europe),  there  break  off  at  least  two 
others  from  the  southern  part  of  the  harbour, 
and  join  with  chief  street  in  the  interior ;  one 
of  these  is  Rue  d'Ecosse,  very  poor  and  dead, 
which  I  did  not  far  survey.  Near  the  har- 
bour, between  chief  street  and  next,  is  a 
square,  and  general  market-place  (fruit,  her- 
rings, etc.) ;  big  old  church,  new  statue  of 
Duquesnoy  (?"ancien  marin  de  cette  ville," 
said  a  snuffy,  rusty  kind  of  citoyen  to  me  on 
my  inquiry):  a  quaint  old  town  of  10  or  15,- 
ooo:  fairly  as  good  as  Dumfries:  immense 
roofs,  two  or  sometimes  three  stories  in  them : 
many  houses  built  as  courts  with  a  street  door ; 


EXCURSION   TO  PARIS. 


219 


each  house  in  its  own  style :  all  very  well  to 
look  upon,  and  good  for  a  morning  stroll. — 
Breakfast  was  not  much  to  brag  of ;  tea  cold, 
coffee  colder,  as  before ;  butter  good,  bread 
eatable  though  of  crusty-sponge  contexture. 
Browning  and  I  strolled  out  along  the  quay 
we  were  upon,  very  windy  towards  the  sea ; 
sheer  chalk  cliffs  some  mile  or  two  off,  downs 
and  scraggly  edifices  close  by.  House  given 
by  "  Napoleon  le  grand  "  to  somebody  there 
named  :  we  inquired  of  three  persons  in  vain 
for  explanation  of  the  inscription  legible 
there ;  at  length  an  old  fisherman  told  us. 
The  M.  somebody  had  saved  many  persons 
from  the  sea:  a  distinguished  member  (or  per- 
haps servant)  of  the  Humane  Society,  which 
had  its  offices  there  within  sight.  Trh  bien. 
An  immense  flaring  crucifix  stood  aloft  near 
the  end  of  this  quay :  sentries  enough,  in  red 
trousers,  walked  everywhere ;  a  country  ship, 
with  fresh  fish,  came  bounding  in :  we  strolled 
back  to  pay  our  bill,  and  get  ready  for  our 
start  to  Paris.  Browning,  as  before,  did  every- 
thing ;  I  sat  out  of  doors  on  some  logs  at  my 


220  EXCURSION   TO  PARIS. 

ease,  and  smoked,  looking  over  the  popula- 
tion and  their  ways.  Before  eleven  we  were 
in  the  omnibus ;  facing  towards  the  Debarca- 
d'ere  (rail  Terminus],  which  is  at  the  south-east 
corner  of  the  harbour,  a  very  smart,  airy,  but 
most  noisy  and  confused  place. 

Maximum  of  fuss  !  The  railway  people,  in- 
stead of  running  to  get  your  luggage  and  self 
stowed  away  quhm  primum  and  out  of  their 
road,  keep  you  and  it  in  hall  after  hall,  weigh- 
ing it,  haggling  over  it,  marching  you  hither, 
then  thither ;  making  an  infinite  hubbub.  You 
cannot  get  to  your  carriages  till  the  very  last 
minute,  and  then  you  must  plunge  in  head 
foremost.  "  They  order  these  matters  worse 
in  France  ! "  Browning  fought  for  us,  and 
we,  that  is  the  women,  the  child,  and  I,  had 
only  to  wait  and  be  silent.  We  got  into  a 
good  carriage  at  last :  we  four,  a  calm  young 
Frenchman  in  glazed  hat,  who  was  kind 
enough  not  to  speak  one  word,  and  a  rather 
pretty  young  lady  of  French  type,  who  smiled 
at  the  child  sometimes,  but  sat  thoughtful  for 
the  rest  and  did  not  speak  either.  There  was 


EXCURSION   TO  PARIS.  221 

air  enough,  both  my  window  and  the  other 
down ;  the  air  was  fine  ;  the  country  beautiful ; 
and  so  away  we  rolled  under  good  auspices 
again. 

This  rail,  all  but  the  Terminus  department, 
is  managed  in  the  English  fashion,  and  carried 
us  excellently  along.  Country  of  bright  wav- 
ing green  character,  undulating,  our  course 
often  along  brooks,  by  pleasant  old  coun- 
try hamlets;  many  manufactures  (spinning,  I 
guessed),  but  of  most  pleasant,  clean,  rustic 
character ;  wood  enough  on  the  hill  sides,  far 
too  thick-planted  ;  stations  not  named,  you  can 
only  guess  where  you  are.  "Junction"  by 
and  by — from  Havre  probably — an  open  space 
without  buildings  as  yet :  an  altogether  beau- 
tiful, long,  manufacturing  village  town  to  the 
left  near  by ;  without  smoke  or  dirt  visible, 
trees  enough — might  really  be  a  model  in 
Lancashire ;  the  Glostershire  railway  scenes 
offer  nothing  much  superior.  Country  all 
made  of  chalk,  as  in  England  (to  near  Paris,  I 
think) ;  fine  velvet  grass,  meadow  culture  main- 
ly ;  fine  old  humble  parish  churches ;  wood 
15 


222  EXCURSION   TO  PARIS. 

enough  still,  but  twice  or  even  thrice  as  thick 
as  we  allow  it  to  be.  Rouen  in  two  hours  : 
long  tunnel,  still  stronger  signs  of  cotton, 
bleaching,  spinning,  etc.,  then  the  big  black 
steeples,  thick  heavy  towers  of  cathedral  and 
the  rest — and  here  is  Joan  of  Arc's  last  resting 
place  and  the  scene  of  many  singular  things. 
Distinguished  still  by  the  clearness  of  its  air, 
the  trees  and  gardens  and  pleasant  meadow- 
looking  places,  which  extended  to  the  very 
entrance.  No  smoke  to  speak  of ;  a  lovely 
place  compared  with  Manchester  or  the  others 
of  that  region !  It  is  true  the  press  of  business 
seemed  a  great  deal  more  moderate.  Our 
railway  station,  roofed  with  glass,  was  equal 
to  the  Carlisle  one ;  "  buffet "  (refreshment 
room),  etc.,  all  in  order ;  and  they  let  us  smoke 
under  conditions.  In  twenty  minutes  some 
other  train  got  in  to  join  us  ;  and  we  took  our 
flight  again  through  space. 

Country  still  chalk :  we  cross  and  again 
cross  the  Seine  river,  swift  but  not  bigger- 
looking  than  the  Thames  at  Chelsea :  fine  hills, 
fine  villages,  with  due  fringing  of  wood  ;  a 


EXCURSION  TO  PARIS.  223 

really  pleasant  landscape  for  many  a  mile. 
Pass  "Vernon,"  battle-scene  of  Convention 
with  Charlotte  Corday's  people:  not  notable 
farther.  Another  town  visible,  all  in  white 
stone,  and  rural  purity  on  my  right.  At 
Mantes  we  stop  ten  minutes ;  fine  houses  with 
their  French  windows  and  blinds  hung  over 
our  station  :  "  Mantes,  je  crois,  Monsieur  !  " 
and  away  we  go  again.  A  "swift"  method 
of  travelling ;  swift  and  nothing  more  !  The 
land,  I  observe,  is  all  divided  into  ribbons ;  pe- 
tite culture  with  a  vengeance.  Beans  and  le- 
gumes probably  the  chief  growth.  Ploughing 
shallow  and  ill-done :  certainly  the  Seine  val- 
ley, which  ought  to  be  one  of  the  richest  in 
the  world,  was  not  well  cultivated,  nor  by  this 
plan  could  it  be.  Copses  are  pretty  frequent ; 
at  length  we  get  into  vineyards.  But  still  the 
ribbon  subdivision  lasts;  pleasant  to  the  eye 
only,  not  to  the  mind.  Towards  four  P.  M.  see 
symptoms  of  approach  to  Paris :  blunt  height 
with  something  like  a  castle  on  it — guess  to 
be  St.  Cloud:  big  arch  of  hard  masonry  to 
left  of  that — guess  to  be  I  Arc  de  lEtoile  :  right 


224  EXCURSION   TO  PARIS. 

in  both  cases.  At  length  Paris  itself  (4  P.  M.), 
and  we  are  safe  in  the  terminus  at  our  set 
hour. 

Alas,  it  was  still  a  long  battle  before  our 
luggage  could  be  got  out;  and  a  crowding, 
jingling,  vociferous  tumult,  in  which  the  brave 
Browning  fought  for  us,  leaving  me  to  sit  be- 
side the  women.  It  is  so  they  manage  in 
France ;  there  are  droits  de  1'octroi ;  there 
are — in  fine,  there  is  maximum  of  fuss,  and 
much  ado  about  almost  nothing !  Some  other 
train  was  in  the  act  of  departing,  as  our  poor 
women  sat  patiently  waiting  on  their  bench ; 
and  all  was  very  fidgetting  and  very  noisy. 
I  walked  out  to  smoke  ;  one  official  permitted 
me,  another  forbade  ;  I  at  length  went  into  the 
street  and  sat  down  upon  a  borne  to  smoke; 
touters  of  hotels  came  round  me :  I  am  for  the 
Hdtel  Meurice,  inflexibly  fixed  ;  de  grdce,  Mes- 
sieurs, laissez-moi  en  paix ;  which  at  last  they 
did.  Cigar  ended,  I  went  in  again,  Browning 
still  fighting  (in  the  invisible  distance)  about 
nothing  at  all.  Our  luggage  visible  at  last 
upon  a  distant  counter,  then  Browning  visible 


EXCURSION    TO  PARIS.  22$ 

with  report  of  a  hackney  coach  :  we  think  it  is 
now  over ;  rash  souls,  there  is  yet  endless  up- 
roar among  the  porters,  wishing  to  carry  our 
luggage  on  a  truck  ;  we  won't,  they  will :  even 
Browning  had  at  last  grown  heated ;  at  length 
I  do  get  a  cab  for  myself  and  little  trunk,  cer- 
tain French  coins  hastily  from  Browning,  and 
roll  away.  Halt!  Browning  has  my  key;  I 
have  to  turn  back,  and  get  it;  happily  this 
proves  the  last  remover,  and  now  I  do  get 
along  and  reach  Meurice's — at  five  instead  of 
four  P.  M.  :  Friday,  the  25th  September,  1851.— 
And  here,  it  being  now  two  o'clock,  and  the 
sun  inviting,  I  will  draw  bridle,  and  stop  for 
the  present  day. 

A  brisk,  bright  autumn  evening  as  I  rolled 
through  the  streets  of  Paris;  recognise  my 
route  first  on  the  Boulevard,  still  better  in  the 
Rue  de  la  Paix  and  Place  Vendome ;  cigar 
nearly  done,  we  are  at  the  door  of  Meurice's 
in  the  Rue  de  Rivoii,  a  crowd  of  cabs  and 
other  such  miscellanies  loitering  there.  Con- 
cierge, old  good-humoured  woman  with  black 
eyes  and  clean  cap,  knows  the  number  of  the 


226  EXCURSION   TO  PARIS. 

Ashburtons,  knows  not  whether  they  are  at 
home :  my  cabman,  an  old,  poor,  good-hu- 
moured knave  of  the  whip,  is  defective  in  pe- 
tite monnaie,  at  length  by  aid  of  the  concierge 
we  settle  handsomely  ;  Mason,  too,  Lord  Ash- 
burton's  servant,  appears,  and  I  get  aloft  into 
my  appointed  bedroom,  "  No.  22,"  a  bare  fan- 
tastic place,  looking  out  into  the  street — bad 
prospects  of  sleep — though  I  am  at  the  very 
top  of  the  house  for  that  object.  Both  Lady 
and  Lord  have  gone  out,  not  finding  me  at 
four  as  covenanted ;  dinner  is  to  be  "  at  six 
precisely."  Walk  on  the  streets,  finishing  my 
cigar;  dress,  have  melancholy  survey  of  my 
bedroom ;  dinner  in  the  dim  salle  ft  manger, 
seasoned  with  English  news  ;  after  dinner  to 
the  The'dtre  Franks,  where  Lord  Normanby 
has  been  pleased  to  furnish  us  his  box.  Very 
bad  box,  "  stage  box,"  close  to  the  actors ;  full 
of  wind-drafts,  where  we  all  took  cold  more  or 
less.  A  clever  energetic  set  of  faces  visible 
in  stalls  (far  superior  to  such  as  go  to  Drury 
Lane) ;  among  them,  pointed  out  by  Lady 
Ashburton,  who  had  met  him,  the  figure 


EXCURSION   TO  PARIS.  22/ 

of  Changarnier.  Strange  to  see  such  a  man 
sitting  sad  and  solitary  there  to  pass  his  even- 
ing. A  man  of  placid  baggy  face,  towards 
sixty;  in  black  wig,  and  black  clothes;  high 
brow,  low  crown,  head  longish ;  small  hook 
nose,  long  upper  lip  (all  shaved),  corners  of 
which,  and  mouth  generally,  and  indeed  face 
generally,  express  obstinacy,  sulkiness,  and 
silent  long-continued  labour  and  chagrin.  I 
could  have  likened  him  to  a  retired  shop- 
keeper of  thoughtful  habits,  much  of  whose 
savings  had  unexpectedly  gone  in  railways. 
Thomas  Wilson  of  Eccleston-street  resembles 
him  in  nose  and  mouth ;  but  there  was  more 
intellect  in  Changarnier,  though  in  a  smoke- 
bleared  condition.  A  man  probably  of  con- 
siderable talent;  rather  a  dangerous-looking 
man.  I  hear  he  is  from  Dijon,  come  of  repu- 
table parliamentary  people.  Play  was  called 
La  Gageure  Imprevu,  or  some  such  name ; 
worthless  racket  and  cackle  (of  mistaken  jeal- 
ousy, etc.,  in  a  country  chateau  of  the  old  re- 
gime) ;  actors  rather  good;  to  me  a  very  wea- 
risome affair.  Lady  Ashburton  went  to  her 


228  EXCURSION   TO  PARIS. 

mother's  at  the  end  of  this ;  Lord  Ashburton 
and  I  staid  out  a  trial  of  the  next  piece,  Maison 
de  St.  Cyr :  actors  very  good  here  again,  play 
wretched,  and  to  my  taste  sadder  and  sadder — 
two  routfs  of  Louis  XIV.  time,  engaged  in  se- 
ducing two  Maintenon  boarding-school  girls, 
find  the  door  of  St.  Cyr  locked  as  they  attempt 
to  get  out ;  find  at  the  window  an  Exempt 
"  de  parle  rot"  are  carried  to  the  Bastille,  and 
obliged  to  marry  the  girls:  their  wretched 
mockeries  upon  marriage,  their  canine  liber- 
tinage  and  soulless  grinning  over  all  that  is 
beautiful  and  pious  in  human  relations  were 
profoundly  saddening  to  me ;  and  I  proposed 
emphatically  an  adjournment  for  tea ;  which 
was  acceded  to,  and  ended  my  concern  with 
the  French  theatre  for  this  bout.  Pfaugh ! — 
the  history  of  the  day  was  done ;  but  upstairs, 
in  my  naked,  noisy  room,  began  a  history  of 
the  night,  which  was  much  more  frightful  to 
me.  Eheu  !  I  have  not  had  such  a  night  these 
many  years,  hardly  in  my  life  before.  My 
room  had  commodes,  cheffoniers,  easy  chairs, 
and  a  huge  gilt  pendule  (half  an  hour  wrong) 


EXCURSION   TO  PARIS.  229 

was  busy  on  the  mantelpiece  ;  but  on  the  bed 
was  not  a  rag  of  curtain,  the  pillow  of  it  looked 
directly  to  the  window,  which  had  bateaus 
(leaves,  not  sashes),  no  shutters,  nor  with  all 
its  screens  the  possibility  of  keeping  out  the 
light.  Noises  from  the  street  abounded,  nor 
were  wanting  from  within.  Brief,  I  got  no 
wink  of  sleep  all  night ;  rose  many  times  to 
make  readjustments  of  my  wretched  furniture, 
turned  the  pillow  to  the  foot,  etc. ;  stept  out 
to  the  balcony  four  or  five  times,  and  in  my 
dressing-gown  and  red  night-cap  smoked  a 
short  Irish  pipe  there  (lately  my  poor  moth- 
er's), and  had  thoughts  enough,  looking  over 
the  Tuileries  garden  there,  and  the  gleam  of 
Paris  city  during  the  night  watches.  I  could 
have  laughed  at  myself,  but  indeed  was  more 
disposed  to  cry.  Very  strange :  I  looked  down 
on  armed  patrols  stealthily  scouring  the  streets, 
saw  the  gleam  of  their  arms  ;  saw  sentries  with 
their  lanterns  inside  the  garden ;  felt  as  if  I 
could  have  leapt  down  among  them — preferred 
turning  in  again  to  my  disconsolate  truckle 
bed.  Towards  two  o'clock  the  street  noises 


230  EXCURSION   TO  PARIS. 

died  away  ;  but  I  was  roused  just  at  the  point 
of  sleep  by  some  sharp  noise  in  my  own  room, 
which  set  all  my  nerves  astir ; — I  could  not  try 
to  sleep  again  till  half-past  four,  when  again  a 
sharp  noise  smote  me  all  asunder,  which  I  dis- 
covered now  to  be  my  superfluous  friend  the 
heterodox  pendule  striking  (all  wrong,  but  on  a 
sharp  loud  bell,  doubly  and  trebly  loud  to  my 
poor  distracted  nerves  just  on  the  act  of  clos- 
ing into  rest)  the  tiatf-hour !  This  in  waking 
time  I  had  not  noticed  ;  this,  and  the  pendule 
in  toto,  I  now  stopt :  but  sleep  was  away ;  the 
outer  and  the  inner  noises  were  awake  again  ; 
sleep  was  now  none  for  me — perhaps  some 
hour  of  half  stupor  between  six  and  seven,  at 
which  latter  hour  I  gave  it  up ;  and  deter- 
mined, first,  to  have  a  tub  to  wash  myself  in  ; 
secondly,  not  for  any  consideration  to  try 
again  the  feat  of  "  sleeping  "  in  that  apartment 
for  one.  My  controversies  about  the  tub 
(paquet  as  I  happily  remembered  to  call  it) 
were  long  and  resolute,  with  several  success- 
ive lackeys  to  whom  I  jargoned  in  emphatic 
mixed  lingo ;  very  ludicrous  if  they  had  not 


EXCURSION   TO  PARIS.  231 

been  very  lamentable :  at  length  I  victoriously 
got  my  paquet  (a  feat  Lord  Ash  burton  himself 
had  failed  in,  and  which  I  did  not  try  again 
while  there) :  huge  tub,  five  feet  in  diameter, 
with  two  big  cans  of  water,  into  which  with 
soap  and  sponges  I  victoriously  stept,  and 
made  myself  thoroughly  clean.  Then  out — 
out,  thank  heaven — to  walk  and  smoke;  an 
hour  yet  to  breakfast  time. 

Rue  de  Rivoli  had  been  mainly  built  since 
my  former  visit  to  Paris ;  a  very  fine-looking 
straight  street,  of  five  or  six  storey  houses, 
with  piazza ;  French  aspect  everywhere,  other- 
wise reminding  me  of  Edinburgh  New  Town, 
— and  only  perhaps  three  furlongs  in  length. 
Streets  straight  as  a  line  have  long  ceased 
to  seem  the  beautifullest  to  me.  Population 
rather  scanty  for  a  metropolitan  street ;  street- 
sweeper,  "  cantonniers"  a  few  omnibuses  with 
Passy,  Versailles,  etc.,  legible,  a  few  strag- 
gling cabriolets  and  insignificant  vehicles, — it 
reminded  you  of  Dublin  with  its  car-driving, 
not  of  London  anywhere  with  its  huge  traffic 
and  its  groaning  wains.  Walkers  any  whither 


232  EXCURSION   TO  PARIS. 

were  few.  Tuileries  Garden  (close  on  my 
left)  seemed  to  have  grown  bushier  since  my 
visit ;  the  trees,  I  thought,  were  far  larger ; 
but  nobody  would  confirm  this  to  me  when  I 
applied  to  neighbours'  experience.  I  did  not 
enter  Tuileries  Garden  yet :  sentries  in  abun- 
dance ;  uncertain  whether  smoking  was  per- 
mitted -within;  judged  it  safest  to  keep  the 
street, — westward,  westward.  Place  de  la  Rtv- 
olution  (Place  Louis  Quinze)  altogether  altered : 
Obelisk  of  Luxor,  asphalt  spaces  and  stone 
pavements,  lamps  all  on  big  gilt  columns, 
big  fountain  (its  Nereids  all  silent) :  a  smart 
place,  and  very  French  in  its  smartness ;  but 
truly  an  open  airy  quarter,  Champs  Elys6es 
woods  (or  brushwoods),  broad  roads,  river, 
quais,  all  very  smart  indeed.  Cross  the 
bridge  (Pont  de  la  Concorde,  I  think,  a  new- 
looking  bridge),  Palais  Bourbon  or  National 
Assembly  House  on  the  south  side  of  it, — No, 
I  did  not  now  cross  these,  I  crossed  by  the 
next  bridge  eastward  (Pont  Royal),  that  was 
my  route,  so  important  to  myself  and  man- 
kind !  Quais  rather  rusty  and  idle-looking ; 


EXCURSION   TO  PARIS.  233 

river  itself  no  great  things  either  for  size  or 
quality, — bathing-barges  mainly,  and  nothing 
very  clean,  or  busy  at  all.  Re-cross  by  the 
Pont  des  Arts ;  Louvre  getting  itself  new-faced, 
its  old  face  new  hewn,  complicated  scaffold- 
ings and  masons  hanging  over  it, — rather 
coburbbish  in  its  effect.  Much  of  the  interior 
is  getting  pulled  down ;  Carrousel,  Tuileries, 
Jardin  des  Tuileries,  Palais  Royal,  etc.,  all 
looked  dirty,  unswept,  or  insufficiently  swept, 
— the  humble  besom  is  not  perhaps  the  chosen 
implement  of  France.  Home  at  nine  :  all  our 
party  ill  of  cold,  Lady  invisible ;  my  room  to 
be  next  night  a  much  better,  curtained  and 
quite  elegant,  but  still  not  quiet  one,  on  this 
same  floor  (the  third  I  think ;  directly  above 
the  pillars  and  the  first  entresol),  looking  out 
into  the  interior  court :  there  I  will  try  again, 
one  night  at  least.  Lord  Ashburton  to  see 
"  Museums "  or  some  such  thing  with  two 
French  "  gentlemen  of  distinction  ;  "  I  decline 
to  go ; — lie  down  on  a  sofa,  covering  my  face 
with  a  newspaper,  address  two  stamped  Gali- 
gnani's  Journals  to  Chelsea,  to  Scotsbrig,  and 


234  EXCURSION   TO  PARIS. 

decide  to  do  nothing  whatever  all  day  but  lie 
still  and  solicit  rest.  Si  fait ; — but  very  little 
rest  may  prove  discoverable?  I  lay  in  one 
place  at  least, — having  first  made  a  call  on  the 
Brownings  whom  I  found  all  brisk  and  well- 
rested  in  the  Rue  Michodiere  (queer  old  quiet 
inn,  Aux  armes  de  la  Ville  de  Paris],  and  very 
sorry  for  my  mischances.  After  noon,  Lord 
Ashburton  returned,  out  to  make  calls,  etc. ;  I 
with  him  in  the  carriage,  into  the  Pay  slat  in 
and  other  quarters ;  lazily  looking  at  Paris,  the 
only  thing  I  care  to  do  with  it  in  present  cir- 
cumstances. Did  me  good,  that  kind  of  "  ex- 
ercise," the  hardest  I  was  fit  for.  Nimm  Dick 
in  Acht. — At  4  o'clock  home,  when  two  things 
were  to  be  done :  M.  Thiers  to  be  received, 
and  a  ride  to  be  executed, — of  which  only  the 
former  took  fulfilment 

A  little  after  4  Thiers  came.  I  had  seen 
the  man  before  in  London,  and  cared  not  to 
see  him  again ;  but  it  seemed  to  be  expected  I 
should  stay  in  the  room,  so  after  deciphering 
this  from  the  hieroglyphs  of  the  scene,  I  staid. 
Lord  and  Lady  Ashburton,  Thiers  and  I :  a 


EXCURSION   TO  PARIS.  235 

sumptuous  enough  drawing-room,  yellow  silk 
sofas,  pendules,  vases,  mirrors,  turkish  carpet, 
good  wood  fires ;  dim  windy  afternoon  ;  voila. 
Royer-Collard,  we  heard,  once  said  :  "  Thiers 
est  un  polisson ;  mais  Guizot,  c'est  un  drole?" 
Heigho,  this  was  Prosper  Me'rime'e's  account 
afterwards,  heigho  ! — M.  Thiers  is  a  little  brisk 
man  towards  sixty,  with  a  round,  white  head, 
close-cropt  and  of  solid  business  form  and 
size ;  round  fat  body  tapering  like  a  ninepin 
into  small  fat  feet,  and  ditto  hands ;  the  eyes 
hazel  and  of  quick,  comfortable,  kindly  aspect, 
small  Roman  nose;  placidly  sharp  fat  face, 
puckered  eyeward  (as  if  all  gravitating  to- 
wards the  eyes) ;  voice  of  thin  treble,  pecul- 
iarly musical ; — gives  you  the  notion  of  a  frank 
social  kind  of  creature,  whose  cunning  must 
lie  deeper  than  words,  and  who  with  whatever 
polissonnerie  may  be  in  him  has  absolutely  no 
malignity  towards  anyone,  and  is  not  the  least 
troubled  with  self-seekings.  He  speaks  in  a 
good-humuored  treble  croak  which  hustles  it- 
self on  in  continuous  copiousness,  and  but  for 
his  remarkably  fine  voice  would  be  indistinct, 


236  EXCURSION   TO  PARIS. 

— which  it  is  not  even  to  a  stranger.  "  Oh 
bah  !  eh  b'en  lui  disais-j —  "  etc. — in  a  monot- 
onous low  gurgling  key,  with  occasional  sharp 
yelping  warbles  (very  musical  all,  and  inviting 
to  cordiality  and  laissez-aller),  it  is  so  that  he 
speaks,  and  with  such  a  copiousness  as  even 
Macaulay  cannot  rival.  "Oh,  bah,  eh  b'en!" 
I  have  not  heard  such  a  mild  broad  river  of 
discourse ;  rising  anywhere,  tending  any- 
whither.  His  little  figure  sits  motionless  in 
its  chair ;  the  hazel  eyes  looking  with  face 
puckered  round  them  looking  placidly  ani- 
mated ;  and  the  lips,  presided  over  by  the 
little  hook-nose,  going,  going !  But  he  is 
willing  to  stop  too  if  you  address  him  ;  and 
can  give  you  clear  and  dainty  response 
about  anything  you  ask.  Not  the  least  offi- 
ciality  is  in  his  manner;  everywhere  rather 
the  air  of  a  bon  enfant,  which  I  think  really 
(with  the  addition  of  coquiri)  must  partly  be 
his  character! — Starting  from  a  fine  Sevres 
vase  which  Lady  Ashburton  had  been  pur- 
chasing, he  flowed  like  a  tide  into  pottery  in 
general ;  into  his  achievements  when  minister 


EXCURSION   TO  PARIS. 


237 


and  encourager  of  Sevres;  half-an-hour  of 
this,  truly  wearisome,  though  interspersed 
with  remarks  and  questions  of  our  own. 
Then  suddenly  drawing  bridle,  he  struck  into 
Association  (Lord  Ashburton  had  the  day  be- 
fore been  looking  at  some  ot  the  Associated 
Workmen) ;  gave  his  deliverance  upon  that 
affair,  with  anecdotes  of  interviews,  with  po- 
litical and  moral  criticisms,  etc.  For  me 
wenig  zu  bedcnten,  but  was  good  too  of  its 
kind.  One  master  of  Assocdes,  perhaps  a  hat- 
ter, "  ruled  like  a  Cromwell," — though  by 
votes  only  ;  and  had  banished  and  purged  out 
the  opposition  party,  not  to  say  all  drunkards 
and  other  unfit  hands  :  tel  regime  de  fer  was  the 
indispensable  requisite; — for  which,  and  for 
other  reasons,  Association  could  never  suc- 
ceed or  become  general  among  workmen. 
Besides,  it  forbade  excellence:  no  rising  from 
the  ranks  there,  to  be  a  great  captain  of  work- 
ers,— as  many,  six  or  seven  of  whom  he  named, 
had  done  by  the  common  method.  Then  ap- 
plicable only  to  hatters,  chair-makers,  and 
tradesmen  whose  market  was  constant.  Try 

16 


238  EXCURSION    TO  PARIS. 

it  in  iron-working,  cotton-spinning,  or  the  like, 
there  arrive  periods  when  no  market  can  be 
found,  and  without  immense  capital  you  must 
stop.  Good  thing  however  for  keeping  men 
from  chdtnage,  for  "  educating  "  them  in  several 
respects.  Thing  to  be  left  to  try  itself, — is  not, 
and  never  can  be,  the  true  way  of  men's  work- 
ing together.  To  all  this  I  could  well  assent ; 
but  wished  rather  it  would  all  end,  there  being 
little  new  or  important  in  it  to  me  !  At  length, 
on  inquiry  about  Michelet  (for  whom  I  had  a 
letter)  we  got  into  a  kind  of  literary  strain  for 
a  little.  Michelet  stood  low  in  T.'s  esteem  as 
a  historian ;  lower  even  than  in  mine.  Good- 
humoured  contempt  for  Michelet  and  his  airy 
syllabubs  of  hypothetic  songerie  instead  of  nar- 
rative of  facts.  "  Can  stand  le  Poete  in  his 
place;  but  not  in  the  domain  of  truths": — a 
sentence,  commented  on  and  expanded  ;  which 
indicated  to  me  no  great  aesthic  sovereignty 
on  the  part  of  M.  Thiers, — leave  him  alone 
then !  Our  conclusion  was,  M.  Michelet  was 
perhaps  a  bit  of  a  sot ; — M.  Lamartine,  who 
had  meanwhile  come  in  course  too,  being  de- 


EXCURSION   TO  PARIS.  239 

finable  rather  as  a.  fat  (a  hard  saying  of  mine, 
which  T.  with  a  grin  of  laughter  adopted) : — 
and  so  we  left  Parnassus  a  la  Franchise ;  and 
M.  Thiers,  who  could  not  stay  to  dinner,  took 
himself  away.  Our  horses,  in  the  meanwhile, 
had  roved  about  saddled  for  two  hours,  and 
were  now  also  gone.  Nothing  remained  but 
to  "dress  for  dinner,"  when  at  seven  the  two 
French  gentlemen  of  distinction  were  ex- 
pected. 

Our  two  Distinguds  were  literary,  one  Meri- 
mee  already  mentioned,  a  kind  of  critic,  his- 
torian, linguistically  and  otherwise  of  worth,  a 
hard,  logical,  smooth  but  utterly  barren  man 
(whom  I  had  seen  before  in  London,  with  lit- 
tle wish  for  a  second  course  of  him) ;  the  other 
a  M.  Laborde,  Syrian  traveller  ;  a  freer-going, 
jollier,  but  equally  unproductive  human  soul. 
Our  dinner,  without  Lady,  was  dullish, — the 
talk  confused,  about  Papal  aggression,  etc., — 
supported  by  me  in  very  bad  French  (unwill- 
ingly), and  in  Protestant  sentiments,  which 
seemed  very  strange  to  my  sceptical  friends. 
Joan  of  Arc  too  came  in  course,  about  whom 


240  EXCURSION    TO  PARIS. 

a  big  book  had  just  come  out :  of  De  VAverdy, 
neither  of  our  friends  had  ever  heard  !  In  the 
drawing-room  with  coffee  it  was  a  little  bet- 
ter :  a  little  better :  a  little,  not  much ;  at  last 
they  went  away ;  and  I,  after  some  precau- 
tions and  preparations  into  bed, — where,  in 
few  minutes,  in  spite  of  noises,  there  fell  on 
me  (thank  heaven)  the  gratefullest  deep  sleep  ; 
and  I  heard  or  thought  of  nothing  more  for 
six  hours  following  ! — so  ends  the  history  of 
Saturday,  26th  September.  Ay  de  mi! 

Sunday  morning,  short  walk  again ;  glance 
into  the  Champs  Elystcs  and  their  broad  avenue 
with  omnibuses ; — I  had  to  return  soon  for 
breakfast.  My  good  sleep, — though  it  ended 
at  5  A.  M.  and  would  not  recommence, — had 
made  me  very  happy  in  comparison.  Break- 
fast,— badish  always,  tea  and  coffee  cold,  etc., 
the  Hotel  Meurice,  spoiled  by  English  and  suc- 
cess, in  general  bad,  though  the  most  expensive 
to  be  found  in  Paris.  Lord  Ashburton's  bill 
(I  incidentally  learned)  was  about  ^45  a  week, 
self,  Lady  Ashburton,  and  two  servants,  maid 
and  man  ! — After  breakfast,  came  Lord  Gran- 


EXCURSION   TO  PARIS.  241 

ville,  talked  intelligently  about  the  methods  of 
"  Glass  Palace  "  (bless  the  mark  !), — graphic 
account  of  Fox  the  builder  thereof;  once  a 
medical  student,  ran  off  with  master's  daugh- 
ter, lived  by  his  wits  in  Liverpool,  lecturing 
on  mechanics,  etc.,  got  into  the  railway ;  be- 
came a  railway  contractor,  ever  a  bigger  and 
bigger  one  (though  without  funds  or  probably 
almost  without),  is  now  very  great, — "  ready 
to  undertake  the  railway  to  Calcutta"  at  a 
day's  notice,  if  you  asked  him :  he  built  the 
glass  soap  bubble,  on  uncertain  terms : — very 
well  described  indeed.  A  cleverer  man,  this 
Lord  Granville  than  I  had  quite  perceived 
before.  After  his  departure,  wrote  to  Chel- 
sea, to  Scotsbrig ;  towards  2  went  to  walk 
with  Herrschaft  in  the  Tuileries  Gardens ; 
Garden  very  dirty,  fallen  leaves,  dust,  etc. ; 
many  people  out :  to  Place  de  la  Concorde,  op- 
posite Lady  Sandwich's  windows  (2,  Rue 
Saint  Florentin)  where  Talleyrand  once  dwelt. 
Lady  Ashburton  still  suffering  from  cold, 
couldn't  go  to  see  her  mother,  went  driving 
by  herself, — the  last  time  she  was  out  at  all 


242  EXCURSION   TO  PARIS. 

during  my  stay : — after  a  call  by  Lord  Ash- 
burton  and  me  at  Lady  S.'s  we  went,  about 
3  P.  M.,  to  ride ;  the  Champ  de  Mars  our  first 
whitherward. 

Paris,  Sunday  : — All  rather  rusty ;  crowds 
not  very  great ;  cleanness,  neatness,  neither  in 
locality  nor  population,  a  conspicuous  feature. 
Ch.  de  Mars  all  hung  round  with  ugly  blankets 
on  Pont-du-Jean  side ;  a  balloon  getting  filled ; 
no  sight  except  for  payment.  Against  my 
will,  we  dismounted  at  another  entrance,  and 
went  in.  Horse-holder  with  brass  badge,  ve- 
hement against  another  without :  "  Serjent  de 
Ville !  " — at  length  he  got  possession  of  the 
horses,  and  proved  a  very  bad  "  holder." 
Dirty  chaos  of  cabriolets,  etc.,  about  this  gate : 
four  or  five  thousand  people  in  at  half-a-franc, 
or  to  the  still  more  inner  mysteries,  a  franc 
each.  Clean  shopkeeper  people,  or  better,  un- 
expectedly intelligent — come  to  see  this !  A 
sorry  spectacle ;  dusty,  disordered  Champ  de 
Mars,  and  what  it  now  held.  Wooden  bar- 
riers were  up;  seats  on  the  oJd  height  raised 
for  Feast  of  Pikes,  which  is  terribly  sunk  now, 


EXCURSION   TO  PARIS.  243 

instead  of  "  thirty  feet "  hardly  eight  or  ten, 
without  grass,  and  much  of  it  torn  away  alto- 
gether. Grassless,  graceless,  untrim  and  sor- 
did, everything  was  !  An  Arab  razzia,  with 
sad  gurrous,  and  blanketed  scarecrows  of  per- 
formers (perhaps  15  or  20  in  all)  was  going 
on ;  then  a  horse  race  ditto ;  noisy  music, 
plenty  of  soldiers  guarding  and  operating.  I 
moved  to  come  away ;  but  just  then  they  in- 
flated a  hydrogen  mannequin  of  silk ;  his  foot 
quivered  and  shook,  he  was  soon  of  full  size, 
then  they  let  him  off,  and  he  soared  majesti- 
cally like  a  human  tumbler  of  the  first  grace 
and  audacity,  right  over  the  top  of  the  inflated 
balloon  (I  know  not  by  what  mechanism),  per- 
haps 500  feet  into  the  air,  and  then  majesti- 
cally descended  on  the  other  side :  none 
laughed,  or  hardly  any  except  we.  Off  again  ; 
find  our  horses  with  effort, — man  wants  two 
francs  not  one  :  (a  modest  horse-holder) !  We 
ascend  the  river  side;  dirty  lumber  on  all 
sides  of  path :  guingctte  (coarse  dirty  old 
house,  dirty  wooden  balcony,  and  mortals 
miserably  drinking) : — across  by  Pont  de  Gre- 


244  EXCURSION   TO  PARIS.. 

noble,  into  Passy,  by  most  dusty  roads,  omni- 
buses, cabs,  etc.,  meeting  us  in  clouds  pretty 
often,  on  each  side  to  Auteuil,  finally  into 
Bois  de  Boulogne,  which  also  is  a  dirty 
scrubby  place  (one  long  road  mainly  of  two 
miles  or  so,  with  paltry  bits  of  trees  on  each 
hand,  and  dust  in  abundance) ;  there  we 
careered  along,  at  a  sharp  trot,  and  had 
almost  all  to  ourselves,  for  nobody  else  ex- 
cept a  walker  or  two,  a  cab-party  or  two  at 
long  intervals  were  seen.  Ugly  unkept  grass 
on  each  side ;  cross-roads,  one  or  two,  turn- 
ing off  into  one  knew  not  what ;  I  found  it  an 
extremely  sober  "  Park  !  "  One  of  the  "  Forts  " 
with  great  ugly  chasms  round  it,  on  our  left. 
At  length  we  emerge  again  into  Passy ;  see 
the  balloon  high  overhead,  people  in  it  wav- 
ing their  hats,  mannequin  (shrunk  to  a  monk- 
ey) hanging  on  below :  a  sudden  wind  then 
blew  it  away, — for  ever  one  was  glad  to  think. 
Arc  de  1'Etoile,  some  Hippodrome  just  coming 
out,  and  such  a  bewildered  gulf-stream  of  peo- 
ple and  cabs  on  the  big  road  townwards  as  I 
never  saw  before  !  Lord  Ashburton  cautioned 


EXCURSION    TO   PARIS.  245 

me  to  ride  vigilantly,  the  people  being  reck- 
less and  half-drunk :  crack,  crack,  gare  !  gare 
&  vous !  it  was  abundantly  unpleasant ;  at 
length  I  proposed  setting  off  with  velocity  in 
the  aggressive  manner,  and  that  soon  brought 
us  through  it.  Dirty  theatre  tea-gardens 
(where  are  singers,  drink,  etc.),  with  other 
more  pleasant  suburb  houses,  were  nestled 
among  the  ill-grown  trees, — why  is  this  wood 
so  ill-grown  ?  At  the  corner  of  Place  de  la 
Concorde,  "  Secour  aux  Blesses  "  stood  painted 
on  a  signboard  of  a  small  house  (police  or  other 
public  house) ;  a  significant  announcement ; 
rain  was  now  falling.  Many  carriages ;  al- 
most all  shabby.  One  dignitary  had  two  ser- 
vants in  livery,  and  their  coat  skirts  were  hung 
over  the  rear  of  the  carriage,  to  be  rightly  con- 
spicuous ;  the  genus  gent leman  (if  taken  strictly) 
seemed  to  me  extremely  rare  on  the  streets  of 
Paris,  or  rather  not  discoverable  at  all.  Per- 
haps owing  to  the  season,  all  being  in  the 
country  ?  Plenty  of  well-dressed  men  were  on 
the  streets  daily ;  but  their  air  was  seldom  or 
never  "  gentle '  in  our  sense :  a  thing  I  re- 


246  EXCURSION    TO  PARIS. 

marked. — Dinner  of  two  was  brief  and  dim ; 
dpure'es,  what  they  are.  After  coffee,  English 
talk ;  winded  up  with  (obligate)  readings  of 
Burns,  which  were  not  very  successful  in  my 
own  surmise. — To  bed,  and  alas  !  no  sleep,  but 
tossing,  fluctuating,  and  confusion  till  4  A.  M. ; 
a  bad  preparation  for  next  day. 

Monday  morning  was  dim,  and  at  7  I 
was  again  awake ;  an  unslept  man.  Walk 
through  the  old  streets,  eastward  and  north- 
ward. Rue  Neuve  des  Petit s  August  ins,  to 
Place  des  Victoires  ;  places  known  to  me  of  old  : 
contrast  of  feelings  seven  and  twenty  years 
apart :  eheu,  eheu !  The  streets  had  all  got 
trottoirs,  the  old  houses  seemed  older  and 
more  dilapidated :  crowds  of  poor-looking 
people,  here  and  there  a  well-dressed  man, 
going  as  if  to  his  "  office  "  (bourgeois,  in  clean 
linen  and  coat) ;  very  small  percentage  of 
such,  and  all  smoking.  Louis  XIV.  in  PL  des 
Victoires:  "Comment?"  said  I  to  two  little 
dumpy  men  in  white  wide-awakes  :  "  Est-ce 
qu'  on  a  laisse  cela,  pendant  la  r6publique  ? " 
They  grinned  a  good-humoured  affirmation. 


EXCURSION   TO  PARIS.  24? 

Homewards  by  the  Palais  Royal ;  said  Palais 
Royal  very  dirty,  very  dim  ;  hardly  anybody 
in  it :  new  in  the  southern  part ;  Louis  Phi- 
lippe's Palace  made  into  an  exhibition  place  for 
Arts  et  Metiers.  Emerge  then,  after  some  wind- 
ings and  returnings,  into  the  Rue  St.  Honore" ; 
heart  of  the  old  Louvre  and  Carrousel  almost 
gutted  out,  block  of  half-demolished  build- 
ings still  standing ;  very  dusty,  very  dim,  all 
things.  In  the  narrow  streets  and  poor  dark 
shops,  etc.,  such  figures,  poor  old  women,  lit- 
tle children,  the  forlorn  of  the  earth.  "  How 
do  they  live?"  one  asked  oneself  with  sorrow 
and  amazement. — Catarrh  general  still  in  our 
party,  catarrh  or  other  illness  universal  in  it. 
Better  get  home  as  soon  as  possible  ? 

After  breakfast,  with  Lord  Ashburton  to 
call  on  General  Cavaignac,  whom  we  under- 
stood to  be  in  town,  of  all  Frenchmen  the  one 
I  cared  a  straw  to  see.  Rue  Houssaie1  where  it 
joins  as  continuation  to  Rue  Taitbout,  north 
from  Boulevard  des  Italiens ;  there  in  a  mod- 
est-enough locality  was  the  General's  house. 
"  Gone  to  the  country  (aux  Dfyartements)"  un- 


248  EXCURSION   TO  PARIS. 

certain  whither,  uncertain  when  ;  clearly  no 
Cavaignac  for  us !  We  drove  away,  disap- 
pointed in  mind,  tant  soit  pen.  "  Lift  the  top 
from  the  carnage,  let  me  drive  through  the 
streets  with  you,  and  sit  warm  and  smoke 
while  you  do  business :  "  that  was  my  pro- 
posal to  Lord  Ashburton,  who  gladly  as- 
sented :  agreed  to  wait  at  his  "  club  "  (Club  of 
Frenchmen  chiefly,  and  of  some  Strangers,  near 
the  Boulevards, — quite  "  empty  "  at  this  time) ; 
home  for  a  warmer  coat,  coachman  and  lackey 
to  doff  the  carriage-roof  :  and  after  some  wait- 
ing we  all  duly  rally  (at  Rue  de  la  Paix  I,  at 
said  club  Lord  Ashburton) — and  roll  away 
eastward  and  into  the  heart  of  the  city. 
Pleasant  drive,  and  the  best  thing  I  could  do 
to-day.  Boulevards  very  stirring,  airy,  loco- 
motive to  a  fair  degree,  but  the  -vehiculation  very 
light.  Looked  at  the  exotic  old  high  houses ; 
the  exotic  rolling  crowd.  Barriere  St.  Mar- 
tin ;  turn  soon  after  Into  the  rightward  streets, 
shops,  lapidary  or  other,  Lord  Ashburton  has 
to  call  at ;  I  remain  seated  ;  learn  we  are  near 
the  Temple ;  decide  to  go  thither.  Old, 


EXCURSION   TO  PARIS.  249 

pale-dingy  edifice,  shorn  of  all  its  towers ; 
only  a  gate  and  dead  wall  to  the  street. 
Policeman  issues  on  us  as  we  enter ;  stony 
eyes,  villainous  look,  has  never  heard  of  Louis 
XVI.,  or  his  imprisonment  here.  "  Non,  mon- 
sieur!"— but  from  the  other  side  of  the  gate 
comes  an  old  female  concierge  who  is  fully 
familiar  with  it ;  she,  brandishing  her  keys,  will 
gladly  show  us  all.  Building  seems  totally 
empty:  a  police  station  in  some  corner  of  it, 
that  is  all.  Garde  Mobile  lived  in  it  in  1848,  be- 
fore that  it  was  a  convent  (under  the  Bour- 
bons) ;  Napoleon  had  already  much  altered  it ; 
filled  up  (comble")  one  storey  of  it,  in  order  to 
make  a  piece  <Teau  (not  quite  dry)  in  the  gar- 
den. Old  trees  still  up  to  their  armpits  there  : 
a  very  strange  proceeding  for  a  piece  (Teau  ! 
Damp,  brown,  and  dismal,  all  these  empti- 
nesses ;  grass  growing  on  the  pavements ;  big 
halls  within  (a  grand  royal  hotel  once,  after 
the  Templars  ceased  from  it) ;  on  the  second 
floor  (once  third  ?)  the  royal  /ra0«-apartments, 
religiously  kept,  are  still  there.  Marie  An- 
toinette's oratoire  ;  the  place  of  CleVy's  scene  of 


250  EXCURSION   TO  PARIS. 

adieu  .  a  grim  locality  indeed  !  Garde  Mobile 
had  drawn  emblematic  figures  with  burnt 
stick,  in  a  few  instances  they  had  torn  the 
walls,  and  made  ugly  big  gaps  with  their  bay- 
onets. Our  old  cocicrge  called  the  primitive 
republicans  (in  reference  to  Louis)  " gueux" — 
she  seemed  of  royalist  disposition, — cut  us  off 
a  bit  of  room-paper  for  souvenir,  accepted  our 
three  francs  with  many  courtesies,  and  so  we 
left  the  Temple,  a  memorable  scene  in  one's 
archives. 

Bronze-dealer  next,  manufacturer  rather, — 
the  greatest  (soi-disant)  de  runivers :  Lord  Ash- 
burton  in  want  of  such  things  went  in,  I  with 
him,  and  we  walked  through  various  long 
suites,  of  pendules,  statuettes,  chandeliers,  etc., — 
an  ardent,  greedy,  acrid-looking  person  (he  of 
"  1'univers  ")  escorting  us ;  almost  frantic  with 
the  desire  to  sell,  to  a  milord  for  money.  A 
vehement  lean  creature,  evidently  of  talent 
in  his  kind,  and  of  an  eagerness — I  have 
not  seen  such  a  hungry  pair  of  eyes.  We 
bought  nothing ;  I  would  not  have  had  a  gift 
of  anything  I  saw  there, — the  best  de  Tunivers: 


EXCURSION    TO  PARIS.  2$! 

"  tantis  non  egco  !  "  Out  at  last,  and  I  decided 
not  to  enter  any  other,  but  to  sit  outside  and 
smoke.  Next  place,  a  still  finer  bronze  con- 
cern ;  indisputably  de  1'univers, — but  I  wouldn't 
enter ;  sat  smoking  pleasantly  in  an  old  quaint 
street  (Quartier  du  Temple  somewhere)  for 
three-quarters  of  an  hour,  and  bought  a  glass 
of  vin  ordinaire  (id.)  in  the  interim,  and 
another  for  cocher,  who  seemed  charmed 
and  astonished.  That  suited  me  better  than 
bronzes.  But  Lord  Ashburton  did  buy  a  pen- 
dule  and  some  fire  or  hearth  apparatus  here, 
all  being  so  extremely  good,  and  the  chief 
man  of  the  establishment,  whom  I  soon  after 
saw  at  the  Hotel  Meurice  delivering  his  goods, 
seemed  to  me  again  a  decidedly  clever,  saga- 
cious, courageous,  broad  and  energetic  man. 
Mem.  I  had  been  in  a  Bookseller  s  (on  Saturday), 
the  cut  of  whose  face  indicated  some  talent, 
and  a  similar  sincerity  of  greed  and  eagerness. 
A  reflection  rose  gradually  that  here,  in  the 
industrial  class,  is  the  real  backbone  of  French 
society :  the  truly  ingenious  and  strong  men 
of  France  are  here  making  money, — while  the 


252  EXCURSION   TO  PARIS. 

politician,  etc.,  class  is  mere  play-acterism,  and 
will  go  to  the  devil  by  and  by  !  "  Assuredly," 
as  Mahomet  says. — We  returned  by  Marche 
des  Innocens,  by  Rue  St.  Honor6  and  many 
streets,  which  to  look  upon  was  a  real  drama 
to  me, — so  many  queer  stone  objects,  queer 
flesh-and-blood  ones,  seen  just  once  and  never 
again  at  all!  Home  about  5,  to  dine  with 
Lady  Sandwich  at  7;  I  flung  my  self  on  bed, 
and  actually  caught  a  few  minutes  of  sleep. 

Lady  Sandwich's  dinner  was  wholly  in  the 
French  fashion,  this  was  its  whole  result  for 
me, — to  see  such  a  thing  once.  Company,  be- 
sides us  two  who  entered  first :  Marquis  Villa- 
real,  a  thick  Portuguese  man  with  big  hoary 
head,  and  boring  black  eyes  (glitter  of  black 
glass],  a  sturdy  man,  long  ambassador  in  Eng- 
land,— spoke  English — had  he  had  anything  to 
say  for  me :  M.  and  Mme.  Thiers,  madame  a 
brunette  of  forty,  pretty  enough  of  her  kind, 
an  insignificant  kind,  hardly  spoke  with  her; 
lastly,  a  Scotch  Miss  Ellice  ("Bear's");  and 
our  two  "  distinctions,"  MeYimee  and  Laborde, 
with  a  Comte  (something)  Roget,  a  poor  thin 


EXCURSION   TO  PARIS. 


253 


man  with  two  voices,  bass  and  treble  alter- 
nating,  who  said  almost  nothing  with  either  of 
them.  Kickshaws,  out  of  which  I  gathered  a 
slice  of  undone  beef,  wines  enough,  out  of 
which  a  drop  of  good  sherry  and  tumbler  of 
vin  ordinaire ;  talk  worth  nothing,  tolerable 
only  had  one  not  been  obliged  to  manufacture 
French.  Women  and  men  together,  all  sud- 
denly rise  from  table,  pushing  back  their 
chairs  with  fracas  ;  then  to  the  drawing-room 
for  coffee  and  talk  with  Thiers  and  Merime'e, 
who  said  or  could  say  nothing  notable,  heartily 
glad  to  get  away,  with  twenty  drops  of  some 
soporific  liquid  ("Jeremy  "  a  laudanum  prepa- 
ration) from  the  good  old  lady  which  was  to 
make  me  sleep.  Eheu  ! — M6rimee  sat  again  in 
the  drawing-room  at  Meurice's ;  got  upon 
German  literature:  "Jean  Paul,  a  hollow  fool 
of  the  first  magnitude ;  "  "  Goethe  the  best, 
but  insignificant,  unintelligible,  a  paltry  kind 
of  scribe  manqut  (as  it  seemed):" — I  could 
stand  no  more  of  it,  but  lighted  a  cigar,  and 
adjourned  to  the  street.  "  You  impertinent 

blasphemous  blockhead  !  "  this  was  sticking  in 
17 


254  EXCURSION   TO  PARIS. 

my  throat ;  better  to  retire  without  bringing 
it  out !  such  was  the  sin  of  the  Jews,  thought 
I ;  the  assay  of  so  much  that  goes  on  still, 
"  crucify  him,  he  is  naught !  " — for  which  they 
still  sell "  old  clothes."  Good-humoured  banter 
on  my  return  in,  Me'rime'e  being  gone :  then 
to  bed, — and  sleep,  alas !  no  sleep  at  all.  A 
plunging  and  careering  through  chaos  and 
cosmos,  through  life  and  through  death,  all 
things  high  and  low  huddled  tragically  to- 
gether; now  in  my  poor  room  at  Scotsbrig 
(so  quiet  there,  beside  my  poor  old  mother !), 
now  at  Chelsea,  now  beyond  the  moon :  I  did 
not  sleep  till  six,  and  then  hardly  for  an 
hour,  such  the  noises,  such  my  nerves.  The 
"Jeremy"  (ten  drops  of  it)  had  rather  done 
me  mischief,  the  other  ten  I  poured  out  of 
window.  Towards  morning  one  practical 
thought  rose  in  me,  that  I  could  get  Iwme 
again  in  a  day ;  that  I  had  no  work  here,  and 
ought  to  get  home  !  Out  after  eight,  up  Rue 
de  la  Paix,  down  towards  Obelisk  of  Luxor 
again  ;  bought  an  indicateur  des  Chemins  de  Per. 
It  was  settled  at  breakfast  that  Lord  Ashbur- 


EXCURSION   TO  PARIS.  255 

ton  should  go  with  me  on  Thursday, — the  Lady 
to  stay  behind  till  Saturday,  while  her  cold 
mended  and  then  come.  Tres  bien.  Lady 
Sandwich  has  a  second  dinner  for  us  to-day  ; 
out  of  which  I  apologise  ;  to  dine  simply  at 
four,  and  will  keep  myself  peaceably  at  home. 
[Pause  here:  have  to  go  the  Strand  with  an 
umbrella!  Monday,  6  Oct.,  1851.] 

Tuesday,  30  September,  after  breakfast 
(then,  I  think}  call  on  the  Brownings,  very  sorry 
they  that  I  am  bound  for  home  perhaps  to- 
morrow, at  any  rate  next  day ;  will  come  to 
them  to  tea  "  if  possible."  At  Meurice's,  M6ri- 
mee  again  to  take  Lord  Ashburton  to  some 
show  of  ancient  armour :  I  decline  to  go  ;  stay 
there,  and  lounge  in  talk  with  Lady  Ashbur- 
ton, who  knits.  "  Attach^  to  French  Em- 
bassy," name  forgotten  or  never  known,  thin, 
half  -  squinting,  insignificant,  brown -skinned 
young  Parisian  ; — I  go  out  to  call  on  Lady 
Sandwich  ;  dinner  in  prospect  there,  and  lam- 
entations over  my  and  everybody's  sickness. 
Dine  at  4,  on  frugal  starved  beef  with  one 
glass  of  sherry ;  Lord  Ashburton  to  dine  be- 


256  EXCURSION   TO  PARIS. 

low  with  certain  Bruces  (Lord  Aylesbury's 
son  and  femme  who  is  Sidney  Herbert's  sister) 
who  are  just  come :  enter  said  Lady  Bruce, 
pretty  but  unbedeutend;  enter  Bruce,  big  nose, 
English  noisy  say-nothing ;  enter  finally  an 
Englishman  who  knows  me,  whom  I  cannot 
recollect  to  know,  who  proves  at  last  to  be 
Sheridan  (Mrs.  Norton's  brother):  talkee,  talkee, 
nichts  zu  bedeuten.  I  withdraw  to  Browning's 
before  seven.  Great  welcome  there ;  and  tea 
in  quiet ;  Browning  gives  me  (being  cun- 
ningly led  to  it)  copious  account  of  the  late 
"  revolutions  "  at  Florence, — such  a  fantastic 
piece  of  Drury-lane  "  revolution ''  as  I  have 
seldom  heard  of.  With  all  such  "  revolutions  " 
may  the  devil  swiftly  fly  away !  Home  soon 
after  ten ;  remember  nothing  of  what  I  found 
there ; — to  bed,  and  happily  get  some  reason- 
able sleep.  Weather  has  now  broken  into 
showers.  Lady  Sandwich's  dinner  (an  English 
party  in  honour  of  us)  has  consisted  mainly  of 
Sir  (is  he  that  ?)  Henry  Bulwer,  whom  I  never 
saw  and  care  little  about  seeing. 

Wednesday  morning,  damp  walk ;   Nero's 


EXCURSION   TO  PARIS.  257 

collar  and  string  (gift  for  my  wife),  at  the  top 
of  Rue  de  la  Paix :  cigars  a  little  farther  on, 
one  or  two, — very  bad,  dear  as  in  England. 
Settled  now  that  Lord  Ashburton  is  to  go  with 
me  to-morrow,  through  in  one  day ;  the  Lady 
to  wait  "  till  Saturday "  when  probably  she 
will  be  able  to  follow.  Trh  bien.  Donoth ing- 
ism  for  a  while ;  then  out  to  see  Champ  de 
Mars  again ;  Hotel  des  Invalides  by  the  way ; 
curious  hawker  (in  good  clothes,  like  a  kind  of 
gentleman)  selling  steel  pens  on  Pont  Royal : 
he  wrote  like  a  Butterworth, — poor  soul,  no 
better  trade  !  Invalides  and  barracks  in  front 
near  by  very  striking.  Multitudes  of  blind  old 
soldiers.  Promenade  des  Aveugles  ;  place  noth- 
ing like  so  clean  as  Chelsea  ;  cannons  round  it, 
chimney  tops,  etc.,  shaped  (I  thought)  like  a 
kind  of  fantastic  helmets ;  figure  of  Napoleon 
in  inner  court : — very  well.  Through  dull 
streets,  with  some  trees,  to  Ecok  Militaire  and 
grand  review  in  Champ  de  Mars.  Poor 
Champ  de  Mars,  in  a  very  dilapidated,  un- 
swept,  and  indeed  quite  ugly  condition  !  Fed- 
eration "  30  feet "  of  mound  is  sunk  to  eight 


258  EXCURSION  TO  PARIS. 

or  ten  (as  I  said  above),  is  torn  through  in 
many  places,  is  untrimmed,  sordid  everywhere, 
— the  place  (perhaps  100  acres  or  more)  is  al- 
together dusty,  disorderly,  waste  and  ugly. 
If  Federation  slope  were  to  be  completed, 
trimmed,  and  kept  green  with  the  trees  on  it ; 
if  any  order  or  care  were  shown. — But  there  is 
none  of  that  kind,  there  or  anywhere.  What 
strikes  you  in  all  public  places  first  is  the  dirt, 
the  litter  of  dust,  fallen  leaves  or  whatever 
there  may  be.  Review  going  on,  worth  little : 
finer  men  than  common  about  the  streets,  with 
these  strange  fo/^my-shaped  red  trousers  (tight 
over  the  hips,  tight  at  ancles,  intermediately 
wide  as  petticoats),  with  their  strait  pinched 
blue  coats  and  ridiculous  flower-pot  caps ; 
good  middle-sized,  well-grown  men  many  of 
them  ;  they  were  marching,  going  on  in  detail, 
some  resting,  not  many  together  anywhere: 
hardly  worth  above  a  glance  or  two.  Passy 
and  Chaillot  looked  very  beautiful  across  the 
river.  Troops  now  began  to  take  up  position 
and  fire, — burn  the  Republic's  gunpowder.  I 
went  my  way ;  inquired  of  an  oldish  soldier 


EXCURSION   TO  PARIS. 

(not  Invalid)  about  the  populous  heights  to 
westwards  :  it  was  "  Sevres  "  ;  St.  Cloud  not 
quite  visible  here  ;  this  is  the  Pont  de  Jtna  (old 
soldier,  very  civil  and  talkative).  I  cross  by 
Pont  J£na ;  ascend  through  dirty  little  tea, 
garden  groves  into  Passy,  sit  down  there 
among  wilderness  of  stones  (new  unused  mason 
stones),  and  smoke,  looking  over  a  pleasant 
view  of  some  wing  of  Paris,  the  noise  from 
Champ  de  Mars  growing  louder  and  louder — 
to  the  waste  of  the  Republic  powder.  Passy, 
Chaillot,  suburban  village  street ;  very  quiet, 
in  spite  of  an  omnibus  or  two;  exotic  of  as- 
pect, worth  walking  alone.  Arc  de  1'Etoile 
again  ;  still  enough  to-day  when  there  is  no 
Hippodrome.  Rain  begins  in  the  Champs  Ely- 
s£es ;  call  on  Lady  Sandwich ;  home  to  din- 
ner, by  the  arcades,  in  decided  rain.  Comte 
(something)  Roget  is  there  ;  has  been  speak- 
ing of  Abbes,  Abb6  Gondy,  etc.,  is  getting 
himself  delicately  quizzed,  I  perceive.  "  Jcu- 
nesse  dor^e,  jeunesse  argent '/<?, — des  bottes," — in 
fine  M.  le  Comte,  who  is  a  very  weak  brother, 
hastens  to  take  himself  away,  feeling  not  at 


2<5o  EXCURSION    TO  PARIS. 

ease  here.  Dinner  (bad  mutton-chop, — useless 
wretched  "  cookery  "  all  along-,  to  my  poor  ex- 
perience), then  half  dress  a  little,  a  dinner  is 
to  be  here  at  7.  Thiers  and  the  two  inevitables 
(Merim6e  and  Laborde) ;  I  decided  to  vanish 
to  Brownings  in  the  interim.  At  Brownings 
vague  talk,  kind  enough ;  take  leave,  and 
home  soon  after  9.  Prints,  I  had  been  survey- 
ing two  large  batches  of  Bookseller's  Prints, 
"  on  approb ;  " — marking  the  detects,  etc.  Did 
not  go  up  to  the  three  strangers  all  at  once ; 
duly  by  degrees  shook  hands  with  the  two 
inevitables  (who  staid  late,  clatter-clattering) ; 
Thiers,  in  about  half  an  hour,  glided  out  with- 
out any  speech  with  me.  I  am  told  that  he  is 
jealous  that  I  respect  him  insufficiently  !  Poor 
little  soul,  I  have  no  pique  at  him  whatsoever ; 
and  of  the  three,  or  indeed  of  known  French- 
men (Guizot  included)  consider  him  much  the 
best  man.  A  healthy  human  animal,  with  due 
braverism  (high  and  low),  due  bulkinism,  or 
more  than  due ;  in  fine  a  healthy  creature, 
and  without  any  "  conscience "  good  or  bad. 
Whereas,  Guizot — I  find  him  a  solemn  in- 


EXCURSION    TO  PARIS.  26l 

triguant,  an  Inquisitor-Tartuffe,  gaunt,  hollow, 
resting  on  the  everlasting  No,  with  a  haggard 
consciousness  that  it  ought  to  be  the  everlast- 
ing Yea :  to  me  an  extremely  detestable  kind 
of  man.  So  I  figure  him, — from  his  books  and 
aspect,  and  avoided  to  speak  with  him  while 
he  was  last  here.  Heaven  forgive  me  if  I  do 
the  poor  man  wrong ;  practically  I  have  only 
to  avoid  him,  that  is  all.  To  poor  Thiers  I 
have  sent  compliments  (if  such  be  due  at  all) 
since  my  return ;  part  with  him  in  peace. 

The  inevitables  are  not  interesting ;  at 
length  they  go  their  ways :  and  now  it  palpa- 
bly turns  out,  Lord  Ashburton  is  not  going  to- 
morrow morning,  feels  better,  and  ought  to 
stay  for  Lady  Ashburton !  Heavy  news  for 
my  poor  fancy  (shuddering  at  a  French  jour- 
ney) ;  but  how  could  I  deny  that  the  measure 
was  perfectly  reasonable ;  that,  in  fact,  the 
poor  ailing  lady  ought  to  have  some  escort.  I 
must  go  myself,  then  ;  must  part  and  shave 
this  night,  be  called  to-morrow  at  &/4 :  "  adieu, 
madarne  !  "  Lord  Ashburton  walks  with  me 
while  I  smoke  in  Place  Vendome ;  will  see  me 


262  EXCURSION   TO  PARIS. 

on  the  morrow  (but  doesn't);  lends  me  two 
gold  sovereigns :  Good  night !  Packing,  shav- 
ing, fiddling  hither  and  thither  :  it  is  past  one 
o'clock  before  I  get  to  bed  ;  and  then  there  are 
many  noises  (some  strange  enough)  to  start 
and  again  start  me :  at  length,  in  spite  of  fate, 
sink  into  chaotic  sleep,  and  lie  so  till  Mason 
("  groom  of  chambers,"  valet  long  known)  call 
me  :  quarter  to  7  :  up,  and  not  a  minute  lost ! 
Thursday  morning  (2  Oct.  1851).  Swift, 
swift !  The  little  brown  valet  has  coffee 
ready ;  I  can  eat  only  a  cubic  inch  of  bread, 
\iz\i-drink  a  small  egg ;  drink  nearly  all  the 
hot  milk  :  that  is  my  five-minutes  breakfast  in 
the  deadly  press  of  hurry ;  then  into  a  fiacre, 
laquais  de  place  volunteering  to  attend  me, — 
and  so  away !  Early  French  streets  ;  some 
"  Place  de  Lafayette  "  (so  far  as  I  could  read), 
then  Terminus,  still  in  good  time, — but  such  a 
bustle,  such  a  fuss  and  uproar  for  half-an-hour 
to  come!  Tickets,  dear  (some  £2  12s.},  and 
difficult  extremely,  then  sliding  of  your  lug- 
gage en  queue  along  a  lid  counter  (to  be 
weighed),  and  quarrels  about  it;  ohone, 


EXCURSION   TO  PARIS.  263 

oh  one !  laquais  and  fiacre  cost  me  3%  -|-  il/2  = 
5  francs.  Luggage  (mistaken,  I  believe  after 
all)  is  r/2  franc  -{-  endless,  maddening  bothera- 
tion. At  length  you  are  admitted,  hardly  find 
a  place ;  and  so  away !  Eight  of  us  inside : 
two  John  Bulls  (one  with  tooth-ache  and 
afraid  of  air);  one  fat  Frenchwoman,  very 
sad-looking ;  then  I,  opposite,  young  John  Bull, 
and  snappish  old-young  English  lady  ;  at  the 
extreme  right,  two  French  exhibitioners :  have 
to  fight  for  airy  but  get  it, — then  hold  my 
peace  as  much  as  possible :  "  Madame,  cela 
finira  ;  cela  ne  durera  pas  a  tout  jamais  !  "  We 
are  quiet  to  one  another,  and  no  incivility  oc- 
curs. "  Auteuil,"  said  my  French  neighbour 
on  the  right,  an  oldish,  common-place,  inno- 
cent man  ;  then  "  Montmorenci ;  "  country 
very  beautiful  here  ;  grows  gradually  less  so  ; 
"  Pontoise,"  and  still  uglier  fiat  bare  country, 
gradually  after  which  quite  flat,  bare,  ill- 
tilled  and  ugly,  and  so  continues.  "  At  Arras  " 
(you  can  see  nothing  of  it,  or  of  anything :  a 
mere  open  barren  flat,  and  a  meagre  little  bar- 
rack of  a  station-house  built),  get  a  bun  and 


264  EXCURSION   TO  PARIS. 

glass  of  vin  ordinaire, — this  was  all  my  food 
till  England.  "  Amiens "  (nothing  visible) ; 
"  Lille  "  (ugly  waste  station-house) :  on,  on,  Oh 
let  it  end !  Country  all  flat;  flax  with  ditches : 
haricots  in  upright  bundles  with  a  stick  in 
each ;  spade  husbandry  (man  digging),  careful 
culture  hereabouts ;  pleasant-looking  villages 
on  the  higher  ground  towards  the  sea ;  some 
trees,  very  feeble  ;  broad  level  railway  course, 
often  straight  as  a  line :  not  one  tunnel  from 
Paris.  Short  battering  shower  or  two,  then 
again  bright  weather.  Thank  Heaven,  Calais 
at  last.  Passport  showing ;  crowded  bothera- 
tion, steamer  overflowing  (German,  Italian, 
French),  in  the  end  we  do  get  under  way, — 
have  seen  nothing  of  Calais  but  the  harbour 
and  some  of  the  steeple-tops:  is  not  that  a 
beautiful  way  of  travelling  ? 

Our  passage  was  of  two  hours,  rather 
pitching,  cold  wind,  once  a  violent  shower  of 
rain :  "  Hoahh — ohh  !  "  frequent  and  sordid  ; 
couldn't  think  of  smoking ;  stood  mainly. 
Stewards  abundantly  humane  ;  one  poor  Ger- 
man lad  half-dead ;  two  hundred  of  us  or 


EXCURSION   TO  PARIS.  26$ 

more, — Dover  in  the  damp,  gusty  twilight; 
and  at  length  squeeze  out.  "  Commissioner 
of  Gun  Tavern,"  one  can  get  refreshment: 
along  then !  Brandy  and  water  and  beef- 
steak, in  the  dirty  coffee-room  of  Gun  Tav- 
ern,— extremely  welcome  in  fine,  and  benefi- 
cial. India  captain  talking  as  he  ate,  foolish 
old  Lancashire  steam  machinist  (from  Lago 
Maggiore  region)  answering  loudly,  foolishly. 
Commissioner  has  done  my  trunk :  "  two-franc 
piece  "  (what  you  please), — no  likelihood  of 
starting  "  for  an  hour  yet,"  so  many  are  we. 
Get  my  wetted  (not  dried)  topcoat.  Some- 
body has  stolen  three  good  cigars;  happily 
nothing  else.  Station  house,  and  place  my- 
self ;  can't  see  trunk,  have  to  believe  it  right, 
(and  it  proves  so).  Fat  French  woman  lands 
beside  me  again.  Young  English -Belgian  tour- 
ists (seemingly),  three  young  men,  one  ditto 
woman :  silly  all,  and  afraid  of  air.  Off,  at 
last,  thank  Heaven  !  By  the  shore,  cliffs,  and 
sea  to  Folkstone  ;  we  have  no  lamp  (so  many 
in  train),  after  Folkstone,  thanks  to  beef-steak 
and  extremity  of  fatigue,  I  fall  asleep  (never 


266  EXCURSION   TO  PARIS. 

the  like  in  a  railway  before) ;  half- waken 
twice,  to  pull  down  the  window  (which  is 
always  pulled  up  again  straightway) ;  awaken 
wholly,  and  it  is  London  Bridge!  Admira- 
ble silence,  method  and  velocity  here.  They 
keep  us  standing  some  ten  minutes,  tickets 
got,  trunks  are  all  laid  out,  in  an  enclosure 
under  copious  light ;  "  Tiens,  je  vois  deja  ma 
malle  !  "  exclaims  Monsieur :  as  might  I,  and 
others.  Near  midnight,  through  muddy  rains, 
am  safe  home, — scarce  credible! — and  have 
as  it  were  slept  ever  since.  Oh  the  joy  of  be- 
ing home  again,  home  and  silent !  No  Ash- 
burton  come  yet :  weather  wet.  Finis.  7  Oct., 
1851. 


LETTERS 

WRITTEN   BY  THOMAS  CARLYLE 
TO   VARNHAGEN   VON   ENSE 

IN   THE  YEARS   1^37-57. 
EDITED   BY   RICHARD   PREUSS. 


THE  letters  here  published  for  the  first  time 
do  not  require  more  than  a  few  introductory 
words.  Testimonies  of  Carlyle's  mind  and 
genius,  they  speak  for  themselves. 

The  originals  have  been  found  among  the 
manuscript  treasures  of  the  Royal  Library  at 
Berlin,  into  whose  possession  the  whole  literary 
inheritance  of  Varnhagen — all  this  man,  fond 
of  collecting,  had  heaped  up  during  a  long  life 
abounding  in  personal  relations — came  after 
his  death  in  the  year  1858.  Of  his  own  letters 
the  author,  otherwise  so  careful  in  such  matters, 
took  no  copies  ;  it  is  to  be  doubted  whether  it 
will  be  possible  to  find  the  originals ;  even  to 
be  doubted  whether  they  exist  at  all. 

Copyright,  1892,  by  D.  Appleton  and  Company. 


268  LETTERS  FROM   CARLYLE. 

It  was  a  happy  idea  of  Varnhagen  to  send, 
in  the  year  1837,  the  first,  four  volumes  of  his 
collection  entitled  Denkwurdigkeiten  meines  Le- 
bens  over  the  sea  to  Carlyle.  It  seems  that  he 
wished  to  see  them  reviewed  in  England.  At 
least  Carlyle  devoted  to  the  Denkwurdigkeiten 
as  well  as  to  the  former  writings  of  Varnhagen, 
relating  to  his  wife  Rahel,  a  long  essay  in  the 
London  and  Westminster  Review  (1838).  But 
at  a  later  period  the  connection  became  im- 
portant for  both  men.  Since  the  death  of 
Goethe,  Carlyle's  personal  relations  to  Ger- 
many were  almost  confined  to  occasional  and 
withal  rare  meetings  with  German  men  who 
lived  in  London.  Even  then  there  came,  from 
time  to  time,  letters  and  messages  from  Ger- 
many, but  they  were,  as  he  wrote  to  Emerson, 
of  no  moment.  When  the  message  of  Varn- 
hagen came,  the  French  Revolution  was  about  to 
be  published,  and  the  troubles  of  supervising 
the  book  in  the  press,  as  well  as  the  first  lect- 
ures then  undertaken  before  a  great  audience 
about  the  German  literature,  may  have  re- 
tarded the  answering  of  Varnhagen's  letter. 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


269 


As  soon  as  leisure  was  given  to  him,  he  wrote. 
And  so  the  apostle  of  German  genius  and  Ger- 
man literature  in  England  entered  in  direct 
connection  again  with  a  German  writer,  and 
with  the  writer  who,  like  no  other,  was  in  the 
very  centre  of  the  literary  life  in  Germany 
then.  Thence  a  correspondence  arose,  if  not 
lively,  yet  continuous,  which  was  maintained 
by  occasional  messages  from  both  sides.  Varn- 
hagen  sent  to  Carlyle  the  new  volumes  of  his 
Denkwiirdigkeiten  and  other  German  books 
which  the  latter  was  in  need  of,  and  Carlyle 
sent  to  Varnhagen  his  writings  and  autographs 
of  English  authors  and  public  men,  for  auto- 
graphs became  more  and  more  the  great  pas- 
sion of  Varnhagen.  Twice  the  two  men  saw 
each  other  in  the  course  of  years:  at  first 
in  1852,  then  in  1858,  not  long  before  the  death 
of  Varnhagen,  who  has  reported  thereupon  in 
his  Journal,  both  times  at  Berlin,  where  the 
historian  of  Frederick  the  Great  was  led  by 
the  wish  to  see  the  life-places  of  his  hero  with 
his  own  eyes.  Naturally  the  communications 
about  his  work  upon  the  Life  of  Frederick 

18 


LETTERS  FROM   CARLYLE. 

take  up,  in  the  second  part  of  these  letters,  the 
largest  room.  From  the  first  shy  appearance 
of  the  idea  of  venturing  on  this  vast  subject, 
we  are  enabled  here  to  accompany  the  whole 
labour,  the  painful  struggle  with  the  strange- 
ness of  the  subject,  with  the  continuous  want 
of  books  and  materials  of  all  sorts,  with  the 
doubts  resulting  from  the  distance  of  the  places 
of  the  narrated  events.  And  surely  our  ad- 
miration is  not  lessened  by  comparing  the  final 
result  with  the  difficulties  of  the  execution, 
and  we  are  enabled  here  to  accompany  him, 
as  it  were,  throughout  the  task. 

To  conclude,  it  is  a  most  agreeable  duty  for 
me  to  express  also  here  my  hearty  thanks  to 
the  friend  and  literary  executor  of  Carlyle, 
James  Anthony  Froude,  for  his  kind  readiness 
in  authorising  me  to  publish  these  letters.  He 
has  added  thereby  a  new  service  to  the  many 
which  he  has  rendered  to  the  memory  of  his 
great  friend. 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


I 


271 


5  Cheyne  Row,  Chelsea,  London :  December  31,  1837. 

My  dear  Sir, — Will  you  accept,  after  too 
long  delay,  my  hearty  thanks  for  your  kind 
and  estimable  gift,  which,  a  good  many  weeks 
ago,  on  returning  hither  out  of  Scotland,  I 
found  awaiting  me  here?  The  name  Varn- 
hagen  von  Ense  was  long  since  honourably 
known  to  me ;  in  the  book  RaheVs  Gallery,  as  in 
a  clear  mirror,  I  had  got  a  glimpse  of  the  man 
himself  and  the  world  he  lived  in;  and  now, 
behold !  the  mirror-image,  grown  a  reality,  had 
come  towards  me,  holding  out  a  friendly  right 
hand  in  the  name  of  the  ever  dear  to  both  of 
us!  Right  heartily  I  grasp  that  kind  hand, 
and  say  again  and  again,  Be  welcome,  with 
thanks. 

If  it  were  suitable  or  possible  to  explain 
amid  what  complexity  of  difficulties,  engage- 
ments, sicknesses,  I  struggle  to  toil  along  here, 
my  slowness  in  answering  would  not  seem  in- 
excusable to  you.  I  wished  to  read  the  book 
first.  A  book  unread  is  still  but  the  offer  of  a 
gift ;  I  needed  first  to  take  it  into  me,  and  then 
tell  you  with  proper  emphasis  that  it  had  in 
very  truth  become  mine.  Not  till  these  late 
days  was  the  leisure  and  the  mood  for  such  an 
enjoyment  granted  me.  The  two  volumes  of 
Denkwurdigkeiten  remained  like  a  little  kindly 
inn,  where,  after  long  solitary  wandering  in 


272 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


bad  weather,  I  should  find  repose  and  friends. 
Once  more  I  say  to  you,  and  now  with  proper 
significance,  Many  thanks. 

Insight,  liveliness,  originality,  the  hardy 
adroit  spirit  of  a  man  who  has  seen  and  suf- 
fered and  done,  in  all  thing  acquitting  himself 
like  a  man,  shines  out  on  me,  in  graceful  co- 
herence, light,  sharp,  decisive,  from  all  parts 
of  this  as  of  your  other  books.  It  is  a  great, 
and  to  me  a  most  rare,  pleasure  in  these  times 
to  find  that  I  agree  wholly  on  all  important 
matters  with  a  writer;  that  in  many  highest 
cases  his  words  are  precisely  such  as  I  should 
wish  to  hear  spoken.  But,  indeed,  your  view 
of  Goethe  being  also  mine,  we  set  out  as  it 
were  from  a  great  centre  of  unity,  and  travel 
lovingly  together  towards  all  manner  of  re- 
gions. For  the  rest,  nothing  pleases  me  more 
than  your  descriptions  of  facts  and  transac- 
tions, a  class  of  objects  which  grows  contin- 
ually in  significance  with  me,  as  much  else 
yearly  and  daily  dwindles  away,  in  treating 
which  a  man  best  of  all  shows  what  manner  of 
man  he  is.  I  read  with  special  interest  your 
Doctor  Bollmann,*  a  name  not  altogether  new 
to  me ;  I  could  read  volume  after  volume  of 

*  The  characteristic  of  Justus  Erich  Bollmann  is  to  be  found 
in  the  fourth  volume  of  the  Denkiviirdigkeiten  und  vcrmischte 
Schriften,  by  Varnhagen.  There  is  also  published  an  excellent 
essay  about  him  by  Friedrich  Kopp  in  the  Deutsche  Rundschau, 
vol.  xviii.  (1879),  entitled  "  Justus  Erich  Bollmann  un  die  Flucht 
Lafayette's  aus  Olmtltz." 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE, 


273 


such  autobiography  as  that  you  give  us — such 
Halle  universities,  such  Battles  of  Wagram, 
such  Fichtes,  Wolffs,  Chamissos,  and  the  high, 
tranquil -mournful,  almost  magical  spirit  of 
your  Rahel  shining  over  them  with  a  light  as 
of  stars !  You  must  not  cease  ;  you  must  con- 
tinue. That  we  might  see,  eyes  were  given  us ; 
and  a  tongue,  to  tell  accurately  what  we  had 
got  to  see.  It  is  the  Alpha  and  Omega  of  all 
intellect  that  man  has.  No  poetry,  hardly 
even  that  of  a  Goethe,  is  equal  to  the  true 
image  of  reality — had  one  eyes  to  see  that.  I 
often  say  to  myself,  the  highest  kind  of  writing, 
poetry  or  what  else  we  may  call  it,  that  of  the 
Bible  for  instance,  has  nothing  to  do  with  fic- 
tion at  all,  but  with  beliefs,  with  facts.  Go  on, 
and  prosper. 

If  you  see  Herr  Criminaldirector  Hitzig, 
pray  remember  me  very  kindly  to  him.  Your 
friend  Chamisso  is  also  one  I  love.  Dr.  Mundt 
will  mourn  with  me  that  the  brave  Rosen,*  his 
friend  and  mine  who  brought  him  hither,  has 
been  so  suddenly  summoned  for  ever  away. 
He  is  one  whom  many  regret.  Do  you  know 
Friedrich  Riickert?  If  you  stand  in  any  cor- 
respondence with  him,  I  will  bid  you  tell  him 
that  I  got  acquainted  altogether  unexpectedly 
with  his  "Hariri"  last  summer,  and  rejoiced 
over  it  for  weeks  as  over  a  found  jewel. 

*  Considerable   Orientalist   and   Sanscritist,   born    1805    at 
Hanover,  was  called  at  the  age  of  22  to  teach  the  Oriental  Ian- 


274 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


Perhaps  you  sometimes  write  to  Weimar  ; 
if  so,  pray  offer  our  peculiar  regards,  my  wife's 
and  mine,  to  Madame  von  Goethe.  I  sent  Dr. 
Eckermann  a  packet  and  letter,  six  months 
ago,  to  which  there  is  yet  to  answer.  His 
Gesprdclie  *  and  your  remarks  on  them  were 
right  welcome. 


II 

London  :  March  10,  1838. 

My  dear  Sir, — Some  two  months  ago  I 
wrote  to  you  in  grateful  tho'  late  acknowledge- 
ment of  your  two  volumes  of  Denkwiirdig- 
keiten,  which  work  I  had  then  read,  as  others 
here  have  since  done,  with  great  satisfaction. 

The  bearer  of  this  note  is  Mr.  Woodhouse, 
a  worthy  English  gentleman,  proceeding  to- 
wards Vienna ;  desirous  of  knowing  what  is 
best  in  Germany  and  among  the  Germans. 
Permit  me  to  recommend  him  to  you.  He  is  a 
stranger  to  Deutschland  as  yet,  but  deserves  to 
know  it  better. 

Perhaps  if  Dr.  Mundt  is  still  in  Berlin,  he 

guages  at  the  London  University,  laid  down  his  professorship  for 
want  of  satisfaction  at  it,  and  died  1837  in  London,  before  he 
could  finish  the  principal  work  of  his  life,  the  edition  of  the  Rig- 
veda.  His  early  death  caused  general  sympathy. 

*  Vols.  i.  and  ii.  of  the  Gesprdche  mit  Goethe,  by  Eckermann, 
were  published  1836.  The  essay  Varnhagen  has  written  there- 
upon is  to  be  found  in  vol.  vi.  of  his  Denkwilrdigkeiten  und  ver- 
mischtc  Schriflcn. 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


275 


could,  for  my  sake,  be  of  some  furtherance  in 
this  matter.     At  all  events,  please  to  accept, 
thro'    Mr.    Woodhouse,    my    salutations    and 
hearty  assurances  of  continued  regard. 
Believe  me  always,  yours  with  true  esteem, 

THOMAS  CARLYLE. 


Ill 

Chelsea,  London :  Nov.  7,  1840. 

My  dear  Sir, — A  fair  traveller  from  your 
country,  who  has  done  us  the  honour  and 
pleasure  of  a  visit,  reminds  me  that  I  ought  to 
write,  that  I  ought  to  have  written  long  weeks 
ago.  Weeks,  or  even  months :  for  on  looking 
at  your  last  note  I  am  shocked  to  discover 
that  it  must  be  almost  half  a  year  since  it,  and 
the  new  volume  accompanied  by  it,  arrived 
here !  Why  I  have  shamefully  delayed  so  long 
were  now  hard  to  say.  Certainly  it  was  not 
for  want  of  thankfulness ;  neither  was  it  for 
the  rather  common  reason,  that  I  had  not  read 
the  book  and  so  knew  not  how  to  speak  of  it. 
The  new  volume  of  the  Denkwiirdigkeiten  was 
eagerly  read  in  the  first  days  after  its  arrival 
here,  and  with  a  pleasure  which  is  still  vividly 
present  to  me.  Alas,  you  are  a  sickly  man 
like  myself ;  you  know  well  enough,  I  doubt 
not,  what  Procrastination  means !  One  of  our 
poets  calls  it  the  "  thief  of  time."  After  long 
months  one  is  suddenly  astonished,  some  day, 


276  LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 

to  find  how  much  of  life,  and  of  the  best  uses 
of  life,  it  has  stolen  from  us. 

The  most  striking  piece  in  this  fifth  volume 
was,  to  me,  the  "  Congress  of  Vienna."  All 
was  good,  and  very  good ;  but  this  best.  At 
the  risk  of  speaking  things  which,  in  a  rapid 
hollow  time  like  ours,  were  perhaps  as  well 
unspoken,  I  must  express  my  real  admiration 
(that  is  the  word)  of  the  talent,  skill,  and  fac- 
ulty of  many  sorts  displayed  is  such  a  compo- 
sition. That  is  what  we  call  the  art  of  writ- 
ing— the  summary  and  outcome  of  many  arts 
and  gifts.  The  grand  secret  of  it,  I  believe,  is 
insight — just  estimation  and  understanding,  by 
head,  and  especially  by  heart.  Give  a  man  a 
narration  to  make,  you  take  in  brief  the  meas- 
ure of  whatsoever  worth  is  in  the  man.  The 
thing  done  lies  round  him,  with  length,  width, 
depth,  a  distracted  chaos  ;  he  models  it  into 
order,  sequence,  and  visibility ;  justly,  with 
whatever  force  of  intelligence  is  in  him.  So 
far  could  he  see  into  the  genesis,  organisation, 
course  and  coherence  of  it ;  so  truly  and  far, 
no  trulier  and  farther :  it  is  the  measure  of  his 
capability,  of  his  Taugend,  and  even,  if  you 
like,  of  his  Tugend.  I  rejoice  much  in  such  a 
style  of  delineation ;  I  prefer  it  to  almost  all 
uses  which  a  man  can  make  of  the  spiritual 
faculty  entrusted  him  here  below.  Let  us  un- 
derstand the  thing  done :  let  us  see  it,  and  pre- 
serve true  memory  of  it ;  a  man  has  under- 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


277 


standing  given  him,  and  a  pen  and  ink,  chiefly 
for  that.  In  the  name  of  the  present  and  of 
future  times,  I  bid  you  to  continue  to  write  us 
"  Memoirs." 

Your  proposed  visit  to  London  did  not 
take  effect  last  year.  In  another  year  perhaps 
you  may  execute  it.  You  will  find  some  per- 
sons here  right  well-affected  towards  you ; 
much  to  see  and  consider ;  many  things,  I  may 
suppose,  which  at  first,  and  some  which  to  the 
last,  will  afflict  and  offend  you.  We  are  near 
two  millions  in  this  city  ;  a  whole  continent  of 
brick,  overarched  with  our  smoke-canopy 
which  rains  down  sometimes  as  black  snow ; 
and  a  tumult,  velocity,  and  deafening  torrent 
of  motion,  material  and  spiritual,  such  as  the 
world,  one  may  hope,  never  saw  before.  Pro- 
found sadness  is  usually  one's  first  impression. 
After  months,  still  more  after  years,  the  method 
there  was  in  such  madness  begins  a  little  to 
disclose  itself. 

I  read  few  German  works  at  present ;  know 
almost  nothing  of  what  you  are  doing.  In- 
deed, except  your  own  writings  there  turns  up 
little  which  a  lover  of  German  literature,  as  I 
have  understood  the  word  in  old  years,  would 
not  as  soon  avoid  as  seek.  In  these  days  I 
have  read  a  new  volume  of  Heine's  with  a 
strange  mixture  of  feelings.  Heine  iiber  Borne 
— it  is  to  me  the  most  portentous  amalgam  of 
sunbeams  and  brutal  mud  that  I  have  met  with 


278  LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 

for  a  long  while.  I  remember  the  man  Borne's 
book,  in  which  he  called  Goethe  the  graue 
Staar  that  had  shut  into  blindness  the  general 
eye  of  Germany.  Heine  seems  to  have  given 
up  railing  at  Goethe ;  he,  Heine  himself,  it 
seems,  has  now  become  a  "  Column  of  Luxor," 
acre  perennius,  and  a  god  does  not  rail  at  gods. 
Eheu  !  Eheu  ! 

If  you  stand  in  any  correspondence  with 
Dr.  Schlesier  of  Stuttgart,  will  you  take  occa- 
sion to  signify,  with  many  thanks  on  my  part, 
that  I  have  received  his  third  volume  of  Gents's 
Writings ;  that  I  did  make  some  attempt  to  get 
the  book  revirwedhere,  but,  having  now  no  con- 
nection with  that  department  of  things,  could 
not  find  a  proper  hand  to  undertake  the  busi- 
ness. Indeed,  I  apprehend  Gentz  has  alto- 
gether passed  here.  I  can  remember  him  as  a 
popular  pamphleteer  with  a  certain  party  in 
my  early  boyhood  ;  but  the  party  has  now  dis- 
appeared, the  ideas  of  it  have  disappeared  ; 
and  nobody  will  now  recollect  Gentz  in  the 
old  light,  or  recognise  him  in  a  new.  To 
myself  I  must  confess  he  hitherto  will  by 
no  means  seem  a  hero.  The  only  portion  of 
his  writings  that  I  have  read  with  any  enter- 
.tainment  is  that  historical  piece  delineating  the 
prologue  to  the  Battle  of  Jena.  What  you 
somewhere  say  about  him  I  can  read  ;  hardly 
what  any  other  says.  A  lady  here,  daughter  of 
the  late  Sir  James  Mackintosh,  remembers  him 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


279 


at  Vienna:  "a  man  in  powdered  ceremonial 
hair,  with  a  red  nose,"  seemingly  fond  of  din- 
ing !  Edidit  monumentum  ! 

The  fair  Sophie  kindly  undertaking  to 
carry  any  parcel,  I  send  you  a  little  pamphlet 
of  mine  published  last  year.  Chartism,  whether 
one  hear  the  word  or  do  not  hear  it,  is  the 
great  fact  of  England  at  present. 

Did  any  one  ever  write  an  adequate  life  of 
your  Frederick  the  Great  ?  Is  there  anywhere 
a  legible  life  of  Luther,  so  much  as  an  attain- 
able edition  of  his  Tisclireden  ?  I  fear  the  an- 
swer is  "  No  "  in  all  these  cases. 

Farewell,  dear  sir ;  be,  I  do  not  say  happy, 
but  nobly  busy,  and  think  of  us  here  as  friends. 

Sophie  promises  to  see  us  a  second  time 
to-morrow.     I  do  not  rightly  know  her  name 
yet,  but  she  has  a  right  gemiithlich  face,  and 
laughing  eyes  of  that  beautiful  German  gray  / 
Believe  me,  yours  ever  truly, 

T.  CARLYLE. 

IV 

Chelsea,  London :  May  16,  1841. 

My  dear  Sir, — Some  six  weeks  ago,  while 
I  was  just  running  off  into  the  country,  your 
very  welcome  and  most  friendly  letter  reached 
me  here.  An  ugly  disorder,  which  they  call 
Influenza,  had  altogether  lamed  me,  in  the  cold 
weather  of  spring ;  the  doctors,  and  still  more 
emphatically  my  own  feelings,  declared  that  I 


2 So  LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 

could  not  shake  the  drug  of  it  oil  except  in 
the  quiet  of  the  fields.  Always,  after  a  certain 
length  of  time  spent  in  this  enormous  never- 
resting  Babel  of  a  city,  there  rises  in  one  not 
a  wish  only,  but  a  kind  of  passion,  for  utter- 
most solitude :  were  it  only  some  black,  ever- 
desolate  moor,  where  nature  alone  was  pres- 
ent, and  manufacture  and  noise,  speech,  witty 
or  stupid,  had  never  reached.  I  prolonged 
my  excursion,  which  at  first  was  only  a  visit 
to  Yorkshire,  into  the  South  of  Scotland,  my 
native  region,  where  brothers  of  mine,  where 
an  aged,  good  mother  still  live  for  me.  I  my- 
self, to  all  other  persons,  am  now  as  good  as  a 
stranger  there.  It  is  a  mournful,  solemn,  nay, 
almost  preternatural  place  for  me  now,  that 
birthland  of  mine ;  sends  me  back  from  it 
silent,  for  there  are  no  words  to  speak  the 
thoughts  and  the  unthinkablcs  it  awakens  !  Ar- 
riving here,  ten  days  ago,  your  Berlin  books, 
one  of  the  most  interesting  gifts,  lay  all  beauti- 
fully arranged  on  a  table  for  me.  I  had  heard 
of  their  safe  arrival  in  my  absence,  and  here 
they  lay  like  a  congratulation  waiting  my  re- 
turn. 

You  forbid  me  to  speak  of  this  altogether  ex- 
traordinary gift ;  accordingly  I  shall  say  noth- 
ing of  it,  how  much  so  ever  I  must  naturally 
feel,  except  that,  under  penalty  of  my  never 
asking  you  again  about  my  book,  you  must  not 
purchase  for  me  any  more  than  these  !  No,  that 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE.  28l 

would  never  do  ;  for  I  shall  want  perhaps  to 
ask  about  many  books.  I  will  put  them  on  my 
shelves,  having  once  read  them  thro' ;  there  let 
them  stand  as  a  peculiar  thing,  a  memorial  to 
me  of  man)'-  things.  All  my  days  I  have 
laboured  and  lamented  under  a  fatal  lack  of 
books ;  as  indeed  England  generally  and  Lon- 
don itself  would  astonish  you  in  that  particu- 
lar ;  think  only  that  in  London,  except  it  be  the 
garbage  of  new  novels  and  such  like,  there  is 
no  library  whatever  from  which  any  man  can 
borrow  a  book  home  with  him.  One  library 
alone  in  our  huge  empire,  that  of  the  British 
Museum  here,  is  open  to  the  public,  to  read  in 
it ;  thereat  first  I  went  to  attempt  reading,  but 
found  that  in  a  room  with  500  people  I  could 
do  no  good  as  a  reader.  A  German,  a  French- 
man, can  hardly  believe  the  existence  of  such 
a  state  of  things  ;  but  it  is  a  lamentable  fact. 
We  are  a  strange  people,  we  English :  a  peo- 
ple, as  I  sometimes  say,  with  more  zVzarticulate 
intelligence  and  less  of  articulate  than  any  peo- 
ple the  sun  now  shines  on.  Speak  to  one  of  us, 
speak  to  almost  any  one  of  us,  you  will  stand 
struck  silent  at  the  contractedness,  perhaps 
Cimmerian  stupidity  of  the  word  he  responds ; 
yet  look  at  the  action  of  the  man,  at  the  com- 
bined action  of  twenty-eight  millions  of  such 
men.  After  years  you  begin  to  see  through 
their  outer  dumbness  how  these  things  have 
been  possible  for  them ;  how  they  do  verily 


282  LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 

stand  in  closest  continual  communication  with 
many  a  power  of  nature,  clearest  insight  into 
that;  how  perhaps  their  very  dumbness  is  a 
kind  of  force.  On  the  whole,  I  grow  to  admire 
less  and  less  your  speaking  peoples.  The  French 
are  a  speaking  people,  and  persuade  number  of 
men  that  they  are  great;  but  coming  to  try 
veracious  nature,  the  ocean  for  example, 
Canada,  Algier  or  the  like,  nature  answers, 
"  No,  Messieurs,  you  are  little  ! "  Russia  again, 
is  not  that  a  great  thing,  still  speechless  ?  From 
Petersburg  to  Kamtchatka  the  earth  answers, 
"  Yes,  I  love  the  English  too,  and  all  the  Teu- 
tons, for  their  silence."  We  can  speak,  too,  by 
a  Shakespeare,  by  a  Goethe,  when  the  time 
comes.  Some  assiduous  whisking  "  dog  of 
knowledge  "  seems  to  itself  a  far  cleverer  creat- 
ure than  the  great  quiet  elephant  or  noble 
horse  ;  but  it  is  far  mistaken  ! 

However,  this  of  the  lamentable  want  of 
books  in  London  (owing  to  that  "  outer  stu- 
pidity "  of  the  English)  has  now  brought  about 
some  beginning  of  its  own  remedy.  What  I 
meant  to  say  was,  that  the  generous  Varnhagen 
need  not  send  me  any  more  books,  because  any 
good  book,  German  or  other,  has  now  become 
attainable  here.  Some  two  years  ago,  after 
sufficiently  lamenting  and  even  sometimes  exe- 
crating such  a  state  of  matters,  it  struck  me, 
Couldst  not  thou,  even  thou  there,  try  to  mend 
it?  The  result,  after  much  confused  difficulty, 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


283 


is  a  democratic  institution  called  "  London 
Library,"  where  all  men,  on  payment  of  a  small 
annual  sum,  can  now  borrow  books ;  a  thing 
called  here  "  Subscription  Library,"  which  in 
such  a  city  as  London,  appetite  growing  by 
what  it  feeds  on,  may  well  become  by-and-by 
one  of  the  best  libraries  extant.  We  are  demo- 
cratic, as  I  said,  or  rather  we  mean  to  be ;  for 
as  yet  only  the  elect  of  the  public  could  be  in- 
terested in  the  scheme.  Prince  Albert,  good 
youth,  is  patron,  by  his  own  free  offer ;  has 
given  fifty  pounds  of  money,  and  promises  "a 
stock  of  German  books."  Varnhagen's  are  al- 
ready there.  Faustum  sit. 

You  give  an  altogether  melancholy  account 
of  your  health  ;  in  which,  alas,  I  can  too  well 
sympathise  !  It  seems  to  me  often  the  one 
misery  in  this  world.  But  the  supreme  powers 
send  it:  we  are  to  work  under  such  condition; 
we  cannot  alter  that  condition.  Perhaps  there 
is  even  much  good  in  it :  I  often  feel  so.  Your 
response  to  the  poor  pamphlet  Chartism  is  that 
of  a  generous  human  heart,  resonant  to  all 
human  things,  never  so  remote  from  it.  We 
are  struggling  as  thro'  thick  darkness,  in  this 
England  of  ours,  towards  light  and  deliverance 
as  I  do  believe.  Adieu,  my  dear  Sir ;  better 
health  of  body  to  you,  and  no  worse  healthy 
brotherliness  of  soul. 

With  affectionate  esteem,  yours  always, 

T.  CARLYLE. 


284  LETTERS  FROM   CARLYLE. 


Chelsea,  London:  Dec.  19,  1842. 

My  dear  Sir, — For  several  months  now  I 
have  been  a  great  defaulter ;  defrauding  you 
of  a  most  indispensable  reply  to  a  kind  mes- 
sage, and  myself  of  a  great  pleasure  in  impart- 
ing it !  How  this  has  been,  by  what  foolish 
combinations  of  sickliness,  idleness,  excessive 
work,  you,  who  alas  are  yourself  too  often  a 
sick  man,  will  perhaps  well  enough  understand. 
Suffice  it  now,  better  now  than  still  later,  very 
penitently  and  very  thankfully  to  say  that  your 
most  welcome  gift,  with  the  kind  written  re- 
membrance in  it,  arrived  safe  here,  in  due 
course  ;  that  I  have  read  the  books,  especially 
your  own  part  of  them,  a  good  while  ago,  with 
agreeable  results  then  and  since,  and  that  now, 
when  you  are  home  again  (as  I  hope)  refreshed 
and  recruited  by  the  bath  waters  and  summer 
recreations,  I  knock  again  at  your  town  door 
with  a  grateful  salutation. 

Your  Denkwiirdigkeiten  are  again,  as  ever, 
the  delightfullest  reading  to  me.  Truly,  I 
think,  were  I  an  absolute  monarch  I  should 
decree  among  other  things,  that  Varnhagen 
von  Ense  be  encouraged,  ordered  and  even 
compelled  to  write  and  ever  to  continue  writ- 
ing Memoirs  !  It  is  authentically  my  feeling. 
Always  alas,  as  one  grows  older,  one's  appetite 


LETTERS  FROM   CARLYLE.  285 

for  books  grows  more  fastidious ;  there  is  now 
for  me  very  little  speculation  and  almost  noth- 
ing- of  the  so-called  Poetry  that  I  can  bear  to 
read  at  all ;  but  a  man  with  eyes,  with  a  soul 
and  heart,  to  tell  me  in  candid  clearness  what 
he  saw  passing  round  him  in  this  universe — is 
and  remains  for  ever  a  welcome  man.  Specu- 
lations, poetries,  what  passes  in  this  or  the 
other  poor  human  brain, — if  it  be  not  some 
most  rare  brain  of  a  Goethe  or  the  like :  this 
is  often  a  very  small  matter ;  a  matter  one  had 
rather  not  know.  But  what  passes  in  God's 
universe ;  this  only  is  a  thing  one  does  wish 
to  know,  if  one  adequately  could  !  In  truth, 
I  have  not  for  years  read  any  writings  that 
please  me,  solace  and  recreate  me  as  these  Denk- 
wiirdegkeiten  do.  It  is  beautiful  to  see  such 
a  work  so  done.  A  Historical  Picture  of  the 
living  present  time;  all  struck  off  with  such 
light  felicity,  such  harmonious  clearness  and 
composure ;  such  a  deep,  what  I  could  call 
unconscious  soul  of  Method  lying  under  it : — 
the  work  of  an  Artist !  Well,  I  will  thank  you, 
and  wish  you  long  heart  and  strength  to  con- 
tinue, for  my  own  sake  and  the  world's ;  for 
the  sake  of  this  Time,  and  perhaps  still  more 
of  the  Times  that  are  coming. 

Your  Russian  Kartoptschin   is   a   terrible 

fellow ;  a  man  in  the  style  of  Michael  Angelo  ! 

One  begins  to  understand  how  what  I  often  call 

"  dumb  Russia  "  may  be  a  kind  of  dumb  Rome, 

19 


286  LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 

one  of  the  greatest  phenomena  on  the  Earth 
present,  with  such  souls  in  it  here  and  there. 
We  have  to  thank  you,  at  least  I  have,  for 
showing  us  a  glimpse  of  actual  Russia  face  to 
face  for  the  first  time.  By  your  help  I  got  a 
real  direct  look  at  the  wild  Poet-soul,  Pusch- 
kin ;  and  said  to  myself,  Yes,  there  is  a  Rus- 
sian man  of  genius ;  for  the  first  time,  I  see 
something  of  the  Russians!  We  begin  here, 
the  better  heads  of  us,  to  have  a  certain  true 
respect  for  Russia  with  all  its  "  Barbarism  " 
real  and  imaginary  ;  to  understand  that  though 
the  Russians  have  all  Journalists  in  the  world 
against  them,  they  have  Nature,  Nature's  laws 
and  God  Almighty  partly  in  their  favour! 
They  can  drill  wild  savage  peoples  and  tame 
waste  continents,  though  they  cannot  write 
Journalistic  Articles.  What  a  contrast  with 
our  French  friends  !  They  can  prove  by  the 
precisest  logic  before  all  men  that  they  were, 
are,  and  probably  will  always  be  in  possession 
of  the  true  light :  Voilh,  this  is  the  key  to  all 
arcana,  this  of  ours.  And  then  take  a  look  at 
them  in  Algier  and  elsewhere  ! 

My  own  studies  and  struggles,  totally  inef- 
fectual as  yet,  have  lain  principally  for  a  long 
time  back  in  the  direction  of  Oliver  Cromwell 
and  our  great  Puritan  Civil  War,  what  I  call 
the  "  Apotheosis  of  Protestantism."  I  do  not 
count  with  any  certainty  that  I  shall  ever 
get  a  book  out  of  it:  but  in  the  meanwhile  it 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE.  287 

leads  to  various  results  for  me  ;  across  all  the 
portentous  rubbish  and  pedantry  of  two  cent- 
uries I  have  got  a  fair  stout  view,  also,  of  the 
flaming  sun-countenance  of  Cromwell, — and 
find  it  great  and  godlike  enough,  tho'  entirely 
#;mtterable  to  these  days.  Our  Histories  of 
him  contemporary  and  subsequent  are  numer- 
ous ;  all  stupid,  some  of  them  almost  infinitely 
stupid.  The  man  remains  imprisoned,  as  un- 
der Aetna  Mountains  of  rubbish  ;  unutterable, 
I  suppose,  forever.  But  the  meaning  of  this 
preamble  was  that  I  had  an  inquiry  to  make  of 
you.  Whether,  namely,  there  exists  in  German 
any  intelligent  and  intelligible  Book  about  the 
military  antiquities  of  Gustavus  Adolphus's 
time?  Much  in  our  Cromwell's  methods  of 
fighting  &c.,  remains  obstinately  obscure  to 
me.  I  understand  only  that  it  was  the  German 
and  Swedish  method  ;  the  chief  officers  of  our 
Civil  War,  especially  great  multitudes  of 
Scotch,  had,  served  in  the  Thirty- Years'  War. 
Often  have  I  reflected,  in  gazing  into  military 
puzzles  of  that  period,  "  Would  that  I  had 
Varnhagen  here,  the  soldier  and  thinker,  to 
tell  me  what  this  means  !  " 

I  decide  on  asking,  if  there  is  any  German 
Book,  at  least.  But  I  fear  there  is  none.  We 
have  a  late  Life  of  Wallenstein  by  a  very  intelli- 
gent Scotch  Soldier,  Colonel  Mitchell,  but 
Mitchell  too  says  he  cannot  understand  how 
they  fought  with  their  pikes  and  muskets  or 


238  LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 

matchlocks  ;  in  short,  I  find  he  knows  no  more 
of  it  than  I  do. 

There  is  a  Life  of  Jean  Paul*  come  to  me 
from  over  the  Atlantic ;  by  one  Mrs.  Lee,  of 
Boston  :  an  entertaining  little  book  and  curious 
as  coming  from  the  other  hemisphere.  I  think 
of  sending  you  a  copy  by  some  opportunity, 
if  I  can  find  one.  Pray  write  to  me  by  and 
by  ;  do  not  imitate  my  sluggishness ! 

Yours  ever,  with  true  regard, 

T.  CARLYLE. 

VI 

Chelsea,  London:  den  5.  Febr.  1843. 

My  dear  Sir, — Many  thanks  again  for  your 
kind  present  of  Books ;  for  your  two  kind 
letters,  the  latter  of  which  arrived  with 
Asehr's  f  book-parcel,  duly,  a  few  nights  ago. 
The  only  unfriendly  news  you  send  is  that  of 
your  own  health,  which  I  wish  you  had  been 
able  to  make  a  little  pleasanter  to  me  !  Sum- 
mer weather  at  the  baths,  and  no  permission 
to  enjoy  it  except  thro'  carriage  windows,  is 
very  sad  work.  And  you  are  still  a  prisoner 

*  Life  of  Jean  Paul  Frederic  Richter.  Compiled  from  vari- 
ous sources.  Together  with  his  autobiography.  Translated 
from  the  German.  In  two  volumes.  Boston,  1842. 

f  The  meritorious  German  bookseller,  who  since  1830,  at 
Berlin,  successfully  laboured  to  further  the  book  trade  with  the 
foreign  countries,  and  has  deserved  well,  e.-pecially  of  the  great 
English  libraries.  He  died  1883,  on  a  journey,  at  Venice. 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


289 


in  Berlin,  or  nearly  so  ; — yet,  thank  heaven, 
not  an  idle  one,  not  a  discontented  one :  this 
too  is  something  to  be  thankful  for.  We  have 
to  take  the  Light  and  the  Dark  as  they  alter- 
nate for  us  here  below  ;  and  try  to  make  the 
right  use  of  both.  I  say  often  of  myself  that 
if  I  had  suffered  no  ill  health,  I  should  have 
known  nothing.  The  stars  shine  out,  as  Fried- 
land's  did,  when  it  is  grown  rightly  dark 
round  us !  Yet  I  hope  to  hear,  as  the  sum- 
mer advances,  that  you  emerge  again,  and 
see  good  under  the  sun.  Nay,  so  long  as  you 
can  continue  writing,  with  whatever  pain  it 
be,  how  many  sons  of  Adam  are  there,  who 
ought  to  pity  you  ;  who  are  not  rather  called 
to  envy  you?  I  know  not  if  I  ever  reported 
with  what  pleasure  I  read  that  little  Delinea- 
tion of  the  Prussian  Field-Marshal  Schwerin.* 
One  has  pleasure  in  it  because  it  is  a  "  Delinea- 
tion," which  so  many  books  only  pretend  to 
be  :  one  sees  a  certain  section  of  Human  Life 
actually  painted,  rendered  credible  and  con- 
ceivable to  one.  That  last  Battle  is  clear  to 
me  as  if  I  had  fought  in  it :  there  is  a  kind  of 
gloomy  dumb  tragic  strength  in  the  Phenom- 
enon, as  in  some  old  Norse-Mythics,  for  me, 
— as  if  I  looked  into  the  old  Death-Kingdoms, 
whereon  Living  Prussia,  with  what  it  can  say 
and  do,  reposes  and  grows  !  Those  long  ranks 

*  Leben  des  Feldmarschall  Graf  en  -von  Schwerin,  von  Vam- 
hagen  was  published  in  1841. 


290 


LETTERS  FROM   CARLYLE. 


of  speechless  Men  standing  ranked  there,  with 
their  three-cornered  hats  and  stiff  hair-queues 
and  fighting  apparatus ;  dumb,  standing  like 
stone  statues  to  be  blasted  in  pieces  with  can- 
non-shot : — there  are  "  inarticulate  meanings  " 
without  end  in  such  a  thing  for  me  !  Surely  I 
much  approve  your  further  biographic  pro- 
jects;  and  bid  you  "Frischzu!"  How  true 
also  is  that  of  Goethe  in  his  advice  to  you :  * 
I  have  felt  it  a  hundred  times ; — indeed  it  is 
properly  the  grand  difficulty  with  my  own 
poor  Cromwell  at  present :  that  he  lies  buried 
so  deep  ;  that  his  dialect,  thought,  aim,  whole 
costume  and  environment  are  grown  so  obso- 
lete for  men.  What  an  English  Puritan  prop- 
erly meant  and  struggled  for  in  the  seven- 
teenth Century :  I  say  to  myself  "  Is  all  that 
dead  ?  Or  is  it  only  asleep  (not  entirely  with 
good  consequences  for  us) ;  a  thing  that  can 
never  die  at  all?"  If  it  be  dead,  we  ought  to 
leave  it  alone  !  "  Let  the  dead  bury  their  dead  " 
is  as  true  in  Literature  as  elsewhere.  Hence 

*  In  the  essay  "  Varnhagen  von  Ense's  Biographien,"  in  the 
sixth  volume  of  Ueber  Ktinst  und  Altcrthutn  (1827).  The  words 
of  Goethe  Carlyle  here  refers  to  are  the  following :  "  We  wish 
that  he  [Varnhagen]  may  proceed,  with  his  biographical  repre- 
sentations, more  and  more  to  the  eighteenth  century,  and  pro- 
mote, by  delineating  of  the  individualities  and  of  the  spirit  of 
the  time  with  which  they  stood  in  action  and  reaction,  clearness 
of  the  whole  state  of  things.  Clearness  necessitates  insight,  in- 
sight creates  tolerance,  tolerance  alone  is  able  to  procure  a  peace 
active  in  all  parts  and  talents." 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


291 


indeed  so  few  Histories,  and  so  many  Pedantries 
and  mere  Sham  Histories, — which  if  men  were 
resolute  enough,  they  would  verily  fling  into 
the  fire  at  once  and  make  an  end  of ! 

Stuhr,  as  you  predict,  is  heavy  ;  but  I  find 
him  solid  and  earnest,  I  believe  I  shall  find  it 
well  worth  while  to  travel  thro'  him.*  One's 
desire  to  know  about  the  old  days  is  so  un- 
quenchable; the  average  of  fulfilment  to  it 
grows  at  length  so  very  low  !  Stuhr  is  very 
far  indeed  above  what  I  have  to  call  "  far  "  in 
late  times. 

Some  fortnight  ago,  I  sent  off  the  Life  of 
RicJiter,  by  the  channel  you  pointed  out.  There 
was  not  another  copy  readily  procurable  ;  so  I 
sent  you  the  one  we  had  ourselves  been  read- 
ing here.  There  was  a  Mitchell's  Life  of  VVal- 
lenstein  added,  which  perhaps  you  may  find 
partly  interesting  even  in  its  very  shortcom- 
ings. Mitchell  is  an  honest  man ;  but  his  in- 
dignation against  much  inanity  that  he  has  to 
witness  here  throws  him  into  somewhat  of  a 
cramp  antagonism  now  and  then.  He  is  dis- 
tinguished here  by  his  deadly  enmity  to  the 
bayonet,  which  he  declares  to  be  a  total  chi- 
mera in  war, — false,  damnable,  heretical,  almost 

*We  conclude  from  the  inquiry  made  in  the  preceding  let- 
ter that,  under  the  numerous  works  of  the  Prussian  historian 
Peter  Feddersen  Stuhr,  here  is  meant  Die  Brandenburgisch- 
Preussische  Kriegsverfassung  zur  Zeit  Friedrich  Wilhems  des 
grossen  Kurfiirsten  (Berlin,  1819). 


292 


LETTERS  FROM   CARLYLE. 


in  the  old  ecclesiastic  sense  !  My  stock  of  au- 
tographs which  I  have  had  much  pleasure  in 
gathering  for  you  is  of  much  more  bulk  than 
value  !  Hardly  a  half  dozen  of  men  very  in- 
teresting to  you  will  you  find  here ;  the  rest 
are  transitory  notabilities, — on  many  of  whom 
as  they  are  like  to  be  entirely  unknown  out 
of  their  own  Parish,  I  have  had  to  mark 
some  brief  commentary  in  pencil.  Pray  use 
your  Indian  rubber  there,  where  you  find  need- 
ful :  for  it  is  of  the  nature  of  the  speech  to  a 
trusted  friend,  not  of  litera  scripta.  Perhaps  even 
thro'  the  Trivial,  you  with  your  clear  eyes  will 
get  here  and  there  a  glimpse  into  our  English 
Existence :  the  great  advantage  is,  that  you 
can  and  ought  to  burn  some  nine-tenths  of  the 
bundle  so  soon  as  you  have  looked  it  over.  As 
occasion  offers  I  will  not  forget  to  gather  you 
a  few  more  autographs  :  Byron,  Fox,  Pitt  I  do 
not  yet  give  up ;  indeed,  the  first  of  those, 
with  some  others,  are  already  promised  me. 

Your  reading  of  the  Austins  is  altogether 
correct.  Mrs.  Austin  came  first  into  vogue 
among  us  by  translating  Puckler  Muskau  (if 
that  is  the  right  spelling)  and  has  risen  ever 
since  by  her  sunny  hopeful  vivacious  charac- 
ter, and  a  good  share  of  female  tact  and  the 
like.  Her  husband,  as  you  say,  is  truly  pain- 
ful,— a  kind  of  PrometJieus  Vinctus,  bound  not 
by  any  Jupiter !  The  man  is  faithful,  vera- 
cious, energetically  almost  spasmodically  labo- 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


293 


rious ;  but  of  an  egoism  which  has,  alas,  proved 
too  strong, — which  has  made  him  unhealthy 
unhappy ;  which,  as  I  say,  "  has  eaten  holes  in 
the  case  of  it."  Poor  Austin, — a  brave  man 
too :  but  able  to  bring  it  no  farther  than  hard 
isolated  Pedant hood !  Nay,  as  Sir  Toby  in 
Shakespeare  has  it,  "  because  thou  art  virtuous, 
shall  there  be  no  more  cakes  and  ale  ?  " 

I  am  very  busy  ;  and  hope  to  tell  you  about 
what  (it  is  a  poor  Volume,  perhaps  preparatory 
to  something  farther)  in  a  month  or  two. 
Adieu,  my  good  Friend :  better  health  to  both 
of  us ;  unabated  heart  to  both  of  us. 
Yours  ever  truly, 

T.  CARLYLE. 

VII 

Chelsea,  London :  May  i,  1843. 

My  dear  Sir, — Almost  a  month  ago  your 
three  beautiful  volumes  of  Memoirs  were  safely 
delivered  to  me  here,  and  in  all  ways  cordially 
welcomed.  I  reckon  it  a  healthy  sign  of  your 
German  Public,  in  spite  of  all  its  confusions, 
that  it  demands  a  new  supply  of  such  Writings : 
there  is  everywhere  a  great  heart  of  truth  liv- 
ing silent  and  latent  amid  the  noise  and  tumult 
of  world-wide  Inanities  literary  and  other ;  this 
we  shall  alwaysknow,.and  quietly  trust  in  this. 

Last  week  there  was  consigned  to  your 
Berlin-London  Bookseller  here  a  new  volume 


294 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


of  mine  *  with  your  address  on  it ;  probably 
in  a  fortnight  it  may  be  looked  for.  I  now,  by 
the  direct  conveyance,  write  to  announce  it ; 
enclosing  a  few  more  Autographs,  which  have 
come  to  me  since  your  last  packet.  None  of 
them  is  like  to  be  of  almost  any  interest ;  but 
they  are  gathered  here  without  trouble,  and  I 
say  always,  you  can  at  worst  burn  them.  From 
time  to  time,  when  such  an  object  turns  upon 
my  path,  I  will  not  fail  to  lift  it ;  to  send  it 
over  sea,  to  the  man  of  all  living  men  who  can 
extract  most  meaning  out  of  it,  for  his  own  be- 
half and  ours ! 

Since  the  finishing  of  that  Book,  I  have 
been  reposing  myself  with  various  imaginary 
kinds  of  work ; — among  others  a  daily  spell  at 
reading  Danish,  with  a  view  to  get  acquainted 
with  the  old  Norse  world.  M tiller's  Sagabibli- 
othek,  I  had  hoped,  was  in  German ;  but,  alas, 
it  proves  to  be  in  Danish ;  and  I  have  to  learn 
that  new  dialect  first  which  turns  out  to  be  an 
almost  ridiculous  mixture  of  Scotch,  and  brok- 
en Deutsch,  artfully  disguised  ;  the  whole  brok- 
en down,  seemingly  so  as  to  give  the  speech-organs 
a  minimum  of  trouble  !  I  get  into  it  without  dif- 
ficulty ;  but  find  Miiller  unluckily  to  be  no  per- 
fect oracle  after  all.  Nials  Saga  in  Icelandic 
is  also  here ;  and  the  abstract  of  it  in  Miiller 
gives  me  great  curiosky  to  penetrate  into  a 

*  Past  and  Present,  written  and  published  1843. 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


295 


sight  of  it,  and  of  the  strange  old  world  it  be- 
longs to.  We  are  without  due  helps  in  Eng- 
lish for  introducing  ourselves  to  old  Scandi- 
navia ;  nor  do  I  find  hitherto  in  German  any 
effectual  notice  of  such.  Do  you  know  the 
magazine  Bragur;  and  what  is  the  worth  of  it  ? 
Has  anybody  written  or  translated,  or  in  any 
way  made  accessible  a  solid  word  on  that  old 
province  of  things,  in  German  speech  ?  Gey- 
er's  Swedish  History  in  its  German  dress  is  al- 
ready ordered  from  the  bookseller:  I  have 
also  read  with  attention  the  German  Version 
of  one  Strinnholm  a  Swede  on  the  Wiking- 
sziige, — it  is  something,  not  much.  This  ;  and 
some  nine  or  ten  Books  of  travels  in  Iceland, 
from  not  one  of  which  can  I  gain  the  smallest 
distinct  insight  even  as  to  what  specially  the 
outward  look  of  the  Island  is ! — If  in  your  cir- 
cle, you  happen  to  know  any  real  Master  in 
Scandinavian  things,  you  could  perhaps  ques- 
tion him  for  me,  on  some  convenient  occasion  : 
perhaps  even  a  German  Book-catalogue,  if  I 
knew  which,  might  instruct  me  in  several 
things. 

There  was  one  other  matter,  of  the  smallest 
possible  weight,  about  which  I  have  often  for- 
gotten to  ask  you  a  small  question.  In  the 
supplement  to  Creuzer's  Symbolik,  written  I 
think  by  one  Mone  (which  I  found  to  be  but  a 
stupid  book)  there  is  account  given  of  an  an- 
cient German  Body  having  been  dug  up  from 


296  LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 

some  morass,  I  think  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Paderborn,  in  which,  or  some  such  museum, 
says  Mone,  the  Body  yet  lies  ;  due  account  of 
the  business  having  been  given  in  printed 
Transactions  or  the  like,  to  which  he  refers.  If 
I  remember  rightly  the  date  is  1817.  But  I 
have  not  Mone's  book  at  hand ;  and,  as  you 
see,  the  matter  has  got  somewhat  dim  for  me. 
The  purport  of  my  request  is,  that  if  there  was 
any  Pamphlet  published  about  it,  any  Paper  in 
some  Society's  Transactions,  or  other  attain- 
able Article  descriptive  of  this  singular  affair, 
you  would  indicate  it  to  me.  This  poor  old 
Cheruscan  brother  man,  apparently  some  hor- 
rible miscreant,  plunged  down  to  be  tanned  in 
peat-bogs,  and  then  to  be  dug  up  into  daylight 
again  after  2,000  years :  this  is  a  thing  I  shall 
never  forget.  This  is  almost  all  that  I  now  re- 
member of  Mone  and  his  grey  dreary  book. 
In  Dublin  Museum,  I  believe,  there  is  the  anal- 
ogous figure  of  an  antique  nearly  naked  Celt, 
dug  out  of  bogs,  in  like  manner ;  but  this,  from 
my  account  of  it,  seems  much  less  notable  than 
the  Cheruscan. 

I  ought  earnestly  to  caution  you  against 
taking  much  or  any  trouble  about  all  this,  but  I 
am  afraid,  that  will  be  almost  of  no  avail  !  In 
verity,  these  matters  are  so  unimportant  to  me, 
you  can  hardly  take  too  little  trouble  with 
them  ;  and  if  I  find,  as  is  still  to  be  dreaded, 
that  you  have  taken  too  much,  why  then,  in 


that  case,  I  will  not  employ  you  again !    Actu- 
ally that  shall  be  your  punishment. 

To-day,  however,  in  my  haste,  I  must  bid 
you  Adieu,  in  hope  of  meeting  again,  on  paper 
at  least,  before  long.  Poor  Schelling  !  I  really 
fear  you  are  right  regarding  him  !  As  for  us, 
by  God's  help,  Dringen  wir  vorwarts, 

Yours  ever,        T.  CARLYLE. 


VIII 

Chelsea  :  Dec.  4,  1843, 

My  dear  Sir, — Will  you  accept  from  me  this 
new  packet  of  mostly  worthless  Autographs,  if 
perchance  it  may  amuse  you  for  an  hour.  The 
collecting  of  it,  as  opportunity  spontaneously 
turned  up,  has  been  a  real  pleasure  to  me,  not 
a  trouble  or  employment  in  any  sense.  We 
will  keep  the  lion's  mouth  still  open  ;  and  when 
I  find  any  contribution  accumulated  there,  I 
will  continue  to  send  it  you. 

Several  of  these  autographs,  I  think,  are 
duplicates :  but  you  can  burn  the  second  or 
the  first,  which  ever  you  find  the  more  worth- 
less, and  retain  the  other.  The  best  part  of 
them,  as  you  will  perceive,  came  to  me  from 
Mr.  Lockhart,  Sir  Walter  Scott's  son-in-law, 
Editor  of  our  chief  Review,*  a  man  of  sound 
faculty  and  rather  important  position  here, — 

*  Quarterly  Review, 


298  LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 

who  has  lately  made  acquaintance  with  your 
writings,  and  is  glad  to  do  any  civility  to 
such  a  man. 

It  is  now  about  three  weeks  since  a  new 
Gift  of  Books  from  you  arrived  safe,  thro'  the 
assiduous  bookseller  Nutt.  Many  thanks  for 
your  kindness,  which  never  wearies !  They 
are  beautiful  volumes,  the  outside  worthy  of 
the  interior,  these  of  your  own :  they  stand  on 
my  shelves,  in  a  place  of  honour ;  and,  as  I  look 
at  them  or  re-examine  them,  shall  remind  me 
of  many  things.  Nyerup  too  seems  an  excel- 
lent work  of  its  kind  ;  and  shall  be  well  read 
and  useful  to  me  one  day.  I  wanted  precisely 
such  a  lexicon,  for  those  Norse  Mythics.  The 
business  has  had  to  postpone  itself  for  the  pres- 
ent ;  but  is  by  no  means  finally  dismissed  ;  nay, 
it  is  likely  to  return,  on  occasion,  for  a  long 
course  of  time.  I  often  feel  it  to  have  been  a 
great  mistake  this  that  we  Moderns  have  made, 
in  studying  with  such  diligence  for  thousand 
of  years  mere  Greek  and  Roman  Primordia, 
and  living  in  such  profound  dark  inattention 
to  our  own.  Odin  seems  to  me  as  good  a  di- 
vinity as  Zeus,  the  lomsburg  is  not  a  whit  less 
heroic  than  any  Siege  of  Troy ; — the  Norse 
conceptions  of  this  universe,  the  Norse  oper- 
ations in  this  universe,  were  as  well  worth 
singing  of,  and  elaborating,  as  some  others ! 
But  Greeks  and  Romans,  I  suppose,  did  not 
found  Colleges  for  studying  the  Phoenician  Ian- 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


299 


guages  and  antiquities  ?  In  how  many  ways 
are  we  hidden  as  with  night-mares,  we  poor 
Modern  Men  ! 

After  long  sorrows  and  confused  hesitations, 
I  have  at  last  sat  down  to  write  some  kind  of 
book  on  Oliver  Cromwell  and  the  English  Civil 
Wars  and  Commonwealth.  It  is  the  ungainliest 
enterprise  I  ever  tried  ;  grows  more  and  more 
bewildering,  the  closer  I  look  into  it :  many 
times  I  have  wished  it  had  never  come  athwart 
me  ;  stolen  already  various  years  of  ugly  labor 
from  me.  But  in  many  enterprises  years  of 
sore  labor  are  to  be  sunk  as  under  the  founda- 
tions. I  say  and  rappeal  to  myself :  St.  Peters- 
burg is  a  noble  city  ;  and  there  had  to  perish 
170,000  men  in  draining  the  Newa  bogs,  before 
the  building  of  it  could  begin  ;  under  the  first 
visible  stone  of  Petersburg  there  lie  170,000 
lives  of  men  !  Courage  !  I  must  not  forget  to 
thank  you  for  the  good  Stukr :  some  gleams  of 
military  illumination  I  did  get  from  him,  which 
is  more  than  I  can  say  of  several  more  pre- 
tentious personages. 

The  Musca  volitans*  is  not  unknown  to  me  ; 
I  had,  for  some  five  years,  and  still  occasion- 
ally have,  a  very  pretty  one, — which  I  call 
the  "  French  Revolution,"  that  book  having 
brought  it  on  me  !  Ill  health  is  a  most  galling 
addition  to  one's  burdens.  But  here  too  we 

*  Mouche  volante,  a  disease  of  the  eyes. 


300 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


must  say,  Courage,  Courage  !  You  have  long 
been  a  sufferer  under  this  foul  Fiend  ;  and  you 
have  wrenched  some  good  hours  from  it  too, 
and  have  some  right  brave  work  to  show  for 
yourself  nevertheless.  Festina  lente  that  is  the 
important  rule.  May  I  hear  that  you  are  bet- 
ter ;  that  you  are  again  victorious  and  remem- 
ber me !  And  so  adieu,  clear  Friend,  from 
Your  affectionate, 

T.  CARLYLE. 

IX 

5  Cheyne  Row,  Chelsea,  London :  April  20,  1844. 

My  dear  Sir, — I  am  deeply  in  your  debt, 
for  books  and  most  friendly  messages ;  I  have 
had  two  parcels  both  of  which  have  come  safe, 
and  been  duly  welcomed  and  enjoyed.  The 
MarscJial  Ke it/i  pleases  me  greatly,  reminds  me 
of  the  ScJiwerin  and  other  things  I  had  before. 
We  have  now  got  the  entire  act  *  into  our  Lon- 
don Library,  and  even  our  young  ladies  are 
busy  reading  it.  Of  all  this  I  should  have  sent 
you  notification  long  ago !  Alas,  I  was  wait- 
ing for  some  expected  autographs  ;  I  was  wait- 
ing for  this  and  that.  At  length  enters  a  young 
American  friend  just  about  setting  off  to  Ber- 
lin :  By  him  I  on  the  sudden  send  you  off 
Bulwer's  new  book  on  Schiller,  which  has 
stood  ready  for  you  these  several  weeks ;  this 

*  The  Biographischen  Denkmale. 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


301 


with  my  love,  and  excuses, — my  Letter  shall 
follow,  when  the  autographs  please  to  arrive. 
Here  are  three,  of  no  value. 

Get  well  in  this  beautiful  weather ;  let  us 
all  get  well,  and  be  busy,  and  good  to  one 
another ! 

In  great  haste,  ever  truly  yours, ' 

T.  CARLYLE. 

The  "three  autographs"  are  not,  at  the 
moment,  discoverable! 


X 

Chelsea:  Febr.  16, 1845. 

My  dear  Sir, — I  am  delighted  to  hear  from 
you  again,  to  taste  of  your  old  friendliness  and 
forgiveness  again.  I  have  behaved  very  ill, 
— or  rather  seemed  to  behave,  for  the  blame 
is  not  wholly  mine,  as  the  penalty  wholly  is. 
These  many  months  I  have  not,  except  upon 
the  merest  compulsion,  written  to  any  person. 
Not  that  I  have  been  so  busy  as  never  to  have 
a  vacant  hour, — alas,  very  far  from  that,  often 
enough ; — but  I  have  been,  and  am  still,  and 
still  am  like  to  be,  sunk  deep ;  down  in  Chaos 
and  the  Death  kingdom  ;  sick  of  body,  sick  of 
heart ;  saddled  with  an  enterprise  which  is  too 
heavy  for  me.  It  is  many  long  years  now  since 
I  began  the  study  of  Oliver  Cromwell,  a  prob- 
lem for  all  ingenuous  Englishmen  ;  it  is  four  or 


302 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


five  long  years  since  I  as  it  were  committed 
myself  to  the  task  of  doing  something  with  it : 
and  now,  on  fair  trial,  it  proves  the  likest  to 
any  impossible  task  of  all  I  ever  undertook. 
The  books  upon  it  would  load  some  wagons, 
dull  as  torpor  itself  every  book  of  them  ;  the 
pedantries,  dilettantisms,  Cants,  misconcep- 
tions, platitudes  and  unimaginable  confusions 
that  prevail  upon  it, — drive  one  to  despair!  I 
have  read,  and  written  and  burnt ;  I  have  sat 
often  contemplative,  looking  out  upon  the  mere 
Infinite  of  desolation.  What  to  do  I  yet  know 
not.  I  have  Goethe's  superstition  about  "  not 
turning  back ;  "  having  put  one's  hand  to  the 
plough,  it  is  not  good  to  shrink  away  till  one 
has  driven  the  furrow  thro'  in  some  way  or 
other !  Alas,  the  noble  seventeenth  Century, 
with  a  God  shining  thro'  all  fibres  of  it,  by 
what  art  can  it  be  presented  to  this  poor  Nine- 
teenth which  has  no  God,  which  has  not  even 
quitted  the  bewildering  pretention  to  have  a 
God  ?  These  things  hold  me  silent,  for  of 
them  it  is  better  not  to  speak ;  and  my  poor 
life  is  buried  under  them  at  present. 

However,  I  suppose,  we  shall  get  into  day- 
light again,  sooner  or  later!  After  a  good 
deal  of  consideration,  I  decided  on  gathering 
together  all  that  I  could  yet  find  of  Oliver's 
own  writing  or  uttering  ;  his  Letters  and 
Speeches  I  now  have  in  a  mass,  rendered  for  the 
first  time  legible  to  modern  men :  this,  tho'  it 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


303 


must  be  a  very  dull  kind  of  reading  to  most  or 
all,  1  have  serious  thoughts  of  handing  out, 
since  men  now  can  read  it ; — I  would  say,  or  in 
some  politer  way  intimate,  "  There,  you  un- 
fortunate Canaille ;  read  them  !  Judge  whether 
that  man  was  a  '  hypocrite,'  a  '  charlatan,'  and 
'  liar,'  whether  he  was  not  a  Hero  and  god-in- 
spired man,  and  you  a  set  of  singering  '  Apes 
by  the  Dead  Sea '."  This  you  perceive  will 
not  be  easy  to  say  !  All  these  things,  how- 
ever, plead  my  excuse  with  you,  who  know 
well  enough  what  the  like  of  them  means  in  a 
man's  existence  ;  and  so  I  stand  absorbed  in 
your  thoughts,  and  am  pitied  by  you,  and  ten- 
derly regarded  as  before  ! 

Your  beautiful  little  Books  came  safe  to 
hand  above  a  week  ago.  The  reading  of  them 
is  like  landing  on  a  sunny  green  island,  out  of 
waste  endless  Polar  Seas,  which  my  usual 
studies  have  resembled  of  late.  I  like  Derf- 
flinger  very  well ;  and  envy  you  the  beautiful 
talent  of  getting  across  a  wide  dim  wilderness 
so  handsomely,  delineating  almost  all  that  is 
visible  in  it  as  you  go !  Your  Elector  of  Bran- 
denburg, Derfflinger's  Elector,  was  an  acquaint" 
ance  of  my  Oliver,  too ;  this  is  a  new  point  of 
union.  I  had  read  Lippe  *  already;  but  grudged 
him  not  a  second  reading,  neither  is  this  per- 

*  Graf  Friedrich  Wilhelm  Ernst  von  Schaumburg-Lippe,  Port- 
uguese Field-marshal,  called  Herder,  1771,  to  Buckeburg  as 
counsellor  of  the  consistory. 


304 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


haps  the  last.  I  have  known  the  man  always 
since  Herder's  Biography  by  his  Widow  ;  and 
regarded  him  with  real  curiosity  and  interest. 
A  most  tough,  original,  unsubduable  lean  man  ! 
Those  scenes  in  the  Portuguese  War  which 
stood  all  as  a  Picture  in  my  head  were  full  of 
admonition  to  me  on  this  last  occasion.  I  said 
to  myself,  "  See,  there  is  a  man  with  a  still 
uglier  enterprise  than  thine  ;  in  the  centre  he 
too  of  infinite  human  stupidities ;  see  how  he 
moulds  them,  controuls  them,  hurls  them  asun- 
der, stands  like  (a  piece  of  human  Valour  in 
th&  middle  of  them  ; — see,  and  take  shame  to 
thyself ! "  Many  thanks  to  you  for  this  new 
Gift.  And  weary  not  to  go  on  working  with 
great  or  with  small  encouragement  in  that  true 
province  of  yours.  A  man  with  a  pen  in  his 
hand,  with  the  gift  of  articulate  pictural  utter- 
ance, surely  he  is  well  employed  in  painting 
and  articulating  worthy  acts  and  men  that  by 
the  nature  of  them  were  dumb.  I  on  the  whole 
define  all  Writing  to  mean  even  that,  or  else 
almost  nothing.  From  Homer's  Iliad  down  to 
the  New-Testament  Gospels, — to  the  Goethe's 
Poems  (if  we  will  look  what  the  essence  of  them 
is), — all  writing  means  Biography  ;  utterance  in 
human  words  of  Heroisms  that  are  not  fully 
utterable  except  in  the  speech  of  gods !  Go 
on,  and  prosper.  Tho'  all  kinds  of  jargon  cir- 
culate round  the  thing  one  does,  and  in  these 
days  no  man  as  it  were  is  worth  listening  to  at 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


305 


all  upon  it ;  yet  the  Silences  know  one's  work 
very  well,  and  do  adopt  what  part  of  it  is  true, 
and  preserve  that  indestructible  thro'  eternal 
time !  Courage ! 

I  have  sent  you  here  a  few  Autographs ; 
they  are  worth  almost  nothing ;  they  came 
without  trouble,  and  will  testify  at  least  of  my 
goodwill.  If  I  had  any  service  useful  for  you, 
very  gladly  would  I  do  it. 

You  ask  me  what  Books  &c.  you  can  again 
procure  for  me  ?  At  present  no  Books ;  but 
there  is  another  thing  perhaps, — tho'  I  know 
not  certainly.  The  case  is  this.  Booksellers 
are  about  republishing  a  miserable  litttle  Life 
of  Schiller  by  me  ;  and  want  a  Medal of  Schiller 
which  they  could  engrave  from.  A  good  like- 
ness ;  an  autograph  in  addition  is  hardly  to  be 
looked  for.  I  have  here  a  small  cameo  copied 
from  Danecker's  Bust,  by  much  the  finest 
Schiller's-face  I  have  seen.  But  perhaps  there 
is  no  such  Medal?  Do  not  mind  it  much,  I 
pray  you !  And  so  farewell  and  wish  me 
well !  T.  CARLYLE. 

XI 

Chelsea,  London  :  April  7,  1845. 

My  dear  Sir, — About  a  week  ago  I  had 
your  very  kind  letter  with  the  Autograph  of 
Schiller  which  latter  I  shall  take  care  to  return 
you  so  soon  as  it  has  served  its  purpose  here. 


306  LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 

The  Medallions,  and  the  Portrait  of  Schiller 
will  arrive  in  good  time  for  their  object ;  we 
shall  certainly  be  able  to  make  out  a  likeness 
of  Schiller  from  the  combination,  unless  our 
part  in  it  be  mismanaged  ;  yours  has  been  per- 
formed with  all  imaginable  fidelity !  I  could 
regret  that  you  give  yourself  such  a  quantity 
of  trouble  to  serve  me  ;  really  a  far  too  liberal 
quantity  of  trouble  ! — but  I  suppose  you  find  a 
satisfaction  in  it ;  so  I  must  let  you  have  your 
way.  To-day  is  my  extremity  of  haste,  with  Prin- 
ters chasing  me,  and  paper  litter  of  every  de- 
scription lying  round  me  in  the  most  distracting 
way,  I  must  restrict  myself  to  the  one  little 
point  of  business  which  your  letter  indicates  : 
that  matter  of  the  Behemoth.  Your  great 
Frederick  is  right  in  what  he  has  written  there, 
at  least  he  is  not  wrong, — tho'  I  suspect  he 
has  but  consulted  Book  Catalogues,  or  some 
secondhand  Criticism,  rather  than  the  Work 
itself  which  he  speaks  of.  Behemoth  is  the 
name  of  a  very  small  book  of  Thomas  Hobbes, 
Author  of  the  Leviathan,  as  you  have  guessed  : 
I  think  the  big  .Leviathan  was  published  about 
1650  or  shortly  after ;  and  this  little  Behemoth 
not  till  about  1670,  tho'  probably  written  long 
before.  I  had  a  copy  of  it,  and  read  it  twice 
some  years  ago  ;  but  at  this  moment  it  has 
fallen  aside,  and  I  must  speak  from  memory. 
It  is  properly  a  historical  Essay  on  the  late 
Civil  War,  which  had  driven  Hobbes  out  of 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


307 


England ;  it  takes  a  most  sceptical  atheistic 
view  of  the  whole  Quarrel ;  imputes  it  all  to 
the  fury  of  the  Preaching  Priests,  whom  and  in- 
deed all  Priests  and  babbling  Religionist  of 
every  kind  Hobbes  thinks  the  Civil  Power 
ought  to  have  coerced  into  silence,  or  ordered 
to  preach  in  a  given  style.  In  this  manner, 
thinks  he,  the  troubles  had  all  been  prevented ; 
similar  troubles  may  again  be  prevented  so. 
He  speaks  little  about  Cromwell ;  rather  seems 
to  admire  him,  as  a  man  who  did  coerce  the 
Priests,  tho'  in  a  fashion  of  his  own  ; — this 
leads  me  to  suspect  that  your  king  had  never 
seen  the  actual  book,  but  spoken  of  it  from 
hearsay.  It  is  a  most  rugged,  distinct,  forcible 
little  Book,  by  a  man  of  the  Creed  and  Temper 
above  indicated ;  I  remember  it  gave  me  the 
idea  of  a  person  who  had  looked  with  most 
penetrating  tho'  unbelieving  eye  upon  the 
whole  Affair,  and  had  better  pointed  out  the 
epochs  and  real  cardinal  points  of  this  great 
quarrel  than  any  other  contemporary  whom  I 
had  met  with.  I  know  not  whether  this  will 
suffice  for  Herr  Preus's  object  and  yours :  but 
if  you  need  more  precise  instruction,  pray 
speak  again ;  it  is  very  easy  to  be  had  to  any 
extent.  Nay  I  think  it  would  not  be  difficult 
to  pick  from  the  Old-Book  stalls  a  copy  of  the 
book  itself  :  but  indeed  there  is  a  new  Edition 
of  all  Hobbes'  works  lately  published,  in  which 
the  Behemoth  is  duly  included, — Sir  William 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


Molesworth's  Edition  of  Hobbes  ;  which  is 
probably  in  one  of  your  Public  Libraries  by 
this  time. 

I  send  you  an  Autograph  of  Thomas  Bab- 
ington  Macaulay,  a  conspicuous  Politician, 
Edinburgh-Reviewer,  Rhetorician,  and  what 
not,  among  us  at  present.  The  note  is  ad- 
dressed to  me  :  *  the  subject  is  perhaps  worth 
mentioning.  An  old  foolish  story  circulates 
concerning  Oliver  Cromwell  :  how  when  the 
king,  in  1647,  was  negotiating  between  the 
Army  and  the  Parliament,  he  had  promised  to 
make  Oliver  an  Earl  and  Knight  of  the  Gar- 

*  We  are  enabled  to  give  the  said  letter  of  Macaulay  to  Car- 
lyle. 

Albany  :  March  31,  1845. 

Dear  Sir,  —  I  should  be  most  happy  to  be  of  the  smallest  use 
to  you.  But  I  fear  that  Mr.  Mackintosh's  memory  has  misled 
him.  He  is  under  the  impression  that  the  famous  saddle  letter 
got  into  Sir  Edward  Harley's  hands,  and  that  Sir  Edward  Har- 
ley  shewed  it  to  Sir  Harry  Vane.  This,  he  thought,  was  men- 
tioned in  the  extracts  which  Sir  James  Mackintosh  made  from 
the  Welbeck  papers.  There  certainly  is  among  those  extracts 
a  concise  account  of  Sir  Edward  Harley's  life  by  one  of  his 
sons,  but  not  a  word  touching  the  letter.  In  truth  the  story  is 
incredible.  For  Sir  Edward  was  a  strong  Presbyterian,  bitterly 
hostile  to  the  military  Saints,  and  closely  connected  with  Den- 
zil  Hollis.  If  Cromwell  had  found  such  a  letter,  the  last  man 
to  whom  he  would  have  given  it  would  have  been  Harley  ;  and, 
if  Harley  had  got  hold  of  such  a  letter,  the  last  man  to  whom 
he  would  have  shown  it  would  have  been  Vane.  But  I  believe 
the  whole  story  of  the  letter  to  be  a  mere  romance. 

If  you  have  the  smallest  curiosity  to  look  over  the  Welbeck 
papers  or  any  other  part  of  Sir  James  Mackintosh's  collection,  I 
shall  be  truly  glad  to  give  you  any  help  in  my  power.  Mr.  Mack- 


LETTERS  FROM   CARLYLE. 


309 


ter ;  how  Oliver  did  not  entirely  believe  him  ; 
got  to  understand  that  he  was  writing-  a  letter 
to  his  Queen,  which  was  to  go  off  on  a  certain 
afternoon,  sewed  into  the  pannel  of  a  saddle, 
by  a  Courier  from  an  Inn  in  London  :  how  Oli- 
ver thereupon,  and  his  son-in-law,  on  that  cer- 
tain afternoon,  disguised  themselves  as  troopers, 
proceeded  to  the  specified  Inn,  gave  the  Cou- 
rier a  cup  of  liquor,  slit  open  the  saddle,  found 
the  Letter,  and  there  read, — "  Fear  not,  my 
Heart ;  the  garter  I  mean  to  give  him  is  a 
hemp  rope."  Whereupon,  etc.  This  story, 
of  which  we  have  Oil  Pictures,  Engravings, 
and  a  general  ignorant  believe  current  among 
us,  I  have  for  a  long  time  seen  to  be  mere 
Mythus ;  and  had  swept  it,  with  many  other 
such,  entirely  out  of  my  head.  But  now  a 
benevolent  gentleman  writes  to  me  that,  for 
certain,  I  shall  get  evidence  about  it,  in  Sir 
James  Mackintosh's  papers, — sends  me  even  a 

intosh,  I  have  no  doubt,  would  permit  me  to  send  you  any  vol- 
ume which  you  might  have  occasion  to  examine.  I  fear  how- 
ever that  you  would  find  little  relating  to  times  earlier  than  the 
restoration. 

Believe  me,  my  dear  Sir,  yours  very  truly, 

T.  B.  MACAULAY. 

To  the  date  of  this  letter  Carlyle  has  written  with  pencil  the 
following  note : — 

"  The  Albany  is  a  set  of  houses  included  within  gates,  within 
regulations, — and  all  let  as  lodgings  to  opulent  Bachelors  here. 
Old  Indians^  official  persons,  and  such  like  are  to  be  found 
there." 


3io 


LETTERS  FROM   CARLYLE. 


long  memoir  on  the  subject.  Macaulay  has  Sir 
James's  Papers  at  present :  I  forward  to  Ma- 
caulay the  long  memoir;  requesting  him  to 
burn  it,  if,  as  I  conclude,  he  has  and  can  have 
no  evidence  to  confirm  the  story.  This  is  his 
answer.  It  is  astonishing  what  masses  of  dry 
and  wet  rubbish  do  lie  in  one's  way  towards 
the  smallest  particle  of  valuable  truth  on  such 
matters !  I  was  in  Oliver's  native  region  two 
years  ago ;  and  made  sad  reflections  on  the 
nature  of  what  we  call  "  immortal  fame "  in 
this  world ! 

Peel  is  considered  to  have  done  a  great  feat 
in  getting  a  Grant  of  Money  (a  much  increased 
Grant)  for  the  Catholic  College  of  Maynooth 
in  Ireland.  I  do  not  wonder  your  King  is  in 
a  great  hesitation  about  setting  up  Parliaments 
in  Prussia.  I  would  advise  a  wise  man,  in  love 
with  things,  and  not  in  love  with  empty  talk 
about  things,  to  come  here  and  look  first! 
Adieu,  my  dear  Sir, — in  haste  to-day. 
Yours  always  truly, 

T.  CARLYLE. 

XII 

Chelsea :  juin  8,  1845. 

My  dear  Sir, — I  am  still  kept  terribly  busy 
without  leisure  at  any  hour :  but  no  haste  can 
excuse  my  neglecting  announce  the  safe  ar- 
rival of  your  bounties,  which  arrive  in  swift 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE.  gn 

succession,  and  ought  to  be  acknowledged  in 
word  as  well  as  thought. 

The  tiny  Package  of  the  Schiller  Valuables 
had  survived  without  damage  the  hazards  of  its 
long  journey  :  it  arrived  here,  after  not  much 
delay,  several  weeks  ago, — just  as  the  Printing 
of  the  Book  was  about  completed  :  still  in  time. 
We  admire  much  the  new  Portrait  of  Schiller. 
It  was  put  at  once  into  the  hand  of  the  Pub- 
lisher; who  with  all  alacrity,  set  about  engag- 
ing "the  best  Engraver," — whose  name  1  do 
not  know  ;  whose  quality  I  much  insisted  on  ; 
and  whom,  accordingly  I  suppose  to  be  busy 
with  the  operation  even  now.  Hitherto  I  have 
heard  nothing  farther ;  my  Publishers  live  far 
off  in  the  heart  of  the  City  and  its  noises ;  and 
all  my  locomotions  at  this  period  direct  them- 
selves towards  the  opposite  quarter.  But  of 
course  I  expect  to  see  a  Proof  before  they 
publish :  if  the  Artist  do  his  duty,  it  will  not 
fail  of  welcome  from  all  parties.  I  would 
thank  you  and  the  kind  Madame  von  Kalb  * 
for  all  your  kindness :  but  you  will  not  accept 
even  of  thanks.  I  suppose  this  must  be  the  real 
likeness  of  Schiller,  in  fact ;  whosoever  spreads 
this  abroad,  to  the  gradual  extrusion  of  the 
others,  is  doing  a  good  thing !  We  have  hung 

*  Fraulein  von  Kalb,  who  was,  since  the  death  of  her  mother 
Charlotte  von  Stein,  lady  of  honour  at  the  court  of  Berlin.  In 
her  possession  was  the  miniature  whose  reproduction  ornates 
the  second  edition  of  Carlyle's  Life  of  Friedrich  Schiller. 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 

up  the  little  Medallions  on  the  wall,  where  tney 
shall  many  times  remind  us  of  you. 

Your  Life  of  BliicJier  came  next ;  which 
shall  solace  my  earliest  leisure  ; — and  which  in 
the  meanwhile  does  not  lie  idle,  but  gets  itself 
read  with  acceptance  in  the  house.  I  for- 
warded the  copy  to  Mr.  Lockhart :  I  had  by 
chance  seen  him  the  night  before.  He  is  not, 
and  has  not  been,  so  poorly  in  health  as  your 
news  had  reported :  a  man  of  sharp  humours, 
of  leasible  nerves ;  he  complains  somewhat, 
but  is  recovering ; — a  tough,  elastic  man.  It 
is  a  strange  element  for  a  man,  this  town  of 
ours  ;  and  the  voice  of  what  is  called  "  Litera- 
ture "  in  it  gets  more  and  more  into  the  cate- 
gory of  Jargon  if  you  be  a  little  in  earnest  in 
this  world  !  Were  there  not  something  bet- 
ter meant  than  all  that  is  said,  it  were  a  very 
poor  affair  indeed.  "  Verachtung,  ja  Nichtach- 
tung  " :  that  really  is  the  rule  for  it. 

My  poor  book  on  Cromwell  will,  if  the  Fates 
permit,  get  itself  disengaged  from  the  Abysses 
by  and  by.  It  is  very  torpid,  after  all  that  I 
can  do  for  it ;  but  it  is  authentic,  indisputable ; 
and  earnest  men  may  by  patience  spell  out  for 
themselves  the  lineaments  of  a  very  grand 
and  now  obsolete  kind  of  man  there !  What 
else  is  the  use  of  writing  ?  To  explain  and 
encourage  grand  dumb  acting,  that  is  the 
whole  use  of  speaking,  and  Singing,  and  Liter- 
aturing  !  That  or  nearly  so.  Good  be  with 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


313 


you,  my  dear  Sir.     With  many  thanks  and  re- 
gards, Yours  ever  truly, 

T.  CARLYLE. 

XIII 

Chelsea:  juin  13,  1845. 

My  dear  Sir, — This  morning  the  Bookseller 
called  with  a  Proof  of  the  "  Engraving  of 
Schiller,"  and  with  this  Autograph  which  he 
has  now  done  with.  The  Engraving  seemed 
to  be  tolerably  good,  but  you  will  have  an  op- 
portunity yourself  of  judging  before  long.  As 
to  the  Autograph,  knowing  its  value  I  am  im- 
patient to  get  it  returned  ;  and,  on  considering, 
fancy  that  an  instant  despatch  by  the  Post 
may  perhaps  be  the  safest  way  : — however,  I 
will  consider1  that  farther ;  at  all  events,  I  now 
straightway  seal  it  up  with  your  address,  that 
it  may  be  ready  for  whatever  conveyance,  and 
in  some  sense  off  my  hand.  Our  weather  has 
grown  hot  as  Sahara ;  my  press  of  confused 
business  rolls  along  more  bewildering  than 
ever, — and  has  to  transact  itself  in  this  tumult 
of  tumults,  as  if  a  man  should  sit  down  to  col- 
lect his  scattered  thoughts  in  the  inside  of  a 
kettle-drum  !  It  will  be  over  by  and  by. 

Yours  ever  truly,        T.  CARLYLE. 

In  great  haste, — by  a  sure  hand,  the  Herr 
Plattnauer.  This  Saturday,  28  juin,  1845. 

T.  C. 


314  LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


XIV 

Chelsea,  London  :  August  19,  1845. 

My  dear  Sir, — Once  more  I  am  to  trespass 
on  your  good  nature  for  a  little  bit  of  service 
you  can  do  me.  A  distinguished  lady  here, 
the  lady  Harriet  Baring,  has  seen  lately,  in  the 
house  of  some  country  friend,  an  Illustrated 
Life  of  Frederick  the  Great*  just  imported  from 
Germany,  a  copy  of  which  she  is  very  desirous 
to  possess.  It  is  "  in  one  stout  volume  8vo, 
the  woodcuts  are  beautiful " ;  recently  pub- 
lished ;  where,  by  whom,  or  of  whose  author- 
ship I  cannot  tell !  This  is  somewhat  like  the 
Interpreting  of  Nebukadnezzar's  Dream,  the 
Dream  itself  not  being  given :  however,  I  hope 
your  sagacity  will  be  able  to  divine  what  is 
meant.  It  is  evidently  some  "  Pracht-Buch  " 
for  Drawing  room  Tables :  "Leben  FricdricJis  mit 
Holzschnitten  "  ; — the  Woodcuts,  moreover  (or 
perhaps  they  were  not  wood-cuts  at  all)  were  "  in 
the  manner  of  Ratsch."  Does  this  define  it 
for  you  ?  Wood-cuts  or  not,  they  were  inter- 
spersed among  the  Letterpress, — part  of  a  page 
printed,  part  engraved. 

If  you  can  find  with  certainty  what  Book 
it  is,  and  get  me  a  Copy  well  bound,  and  send 

*  Evidently  is  meant  Geschichte  Friedrichs  des  Grossen. 
Geschrieben  von  Franz  Kugler.  Gezeichnet  von  Adolf  Menzel. 
'Leipzig,  1840. 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


315 


it  over  by  the  Berlin  and  Fleet-Street  Book- 
seller, I  shall  be  really  obliged.  One  might 
have  it  bound  here;  but  the  foreign  binding 
will  be  more  piquant.  It  should  be  done 
anmuthig  yet  with  much  modesty :  we  will 
trust  to  your  taste  for  that.  On  the  outside  of 
one  of  the  boards  (of  course  not  on  the  back) 
there  should  be  legible,  within  a  border,  the 
letters  "  H.  M.  B."  (which  mean  Harriet  Mon- 
tague Baring)  and  "  Addiscombe  "  (the  place 
of  residence).  These  are  rather  singular  duties 
to  impose  upon  you !  Nevertheless  I  will 
trust  to  your  goodness  for  doing  them  even 
with  pleasure.  And  pray  observe  farther :  I 
cannot  consent  to  the  operation  at  all  unless 
you  leave  the  whole  money  part  of  it  to  be 
settled  by  myself  with  the  bookseller  here  ; 
that  is  an  absolute  condition,  a  sine  qua  non. 

Another  lady  has  employed  me  in  another 
somewhat  singular  thing  of  the  Book  kind, — 
which  also,  when  your  hand  is  in,  I  may  as, 
well  ask  you  to  do.  It  is  to  send  a  copy  of  the 
established  "  Domestic  -  Cookery  Book"  of 
Germany  !  We  wish  to  see  what  the  Germans 
live  upon ;  and  perhaps  to  make  incidental  ex- 
periments of  our  own  out  of  that.  Any  Gnd- 
dige  Frau  acquainted  with  her  duties  will  direct 
you  what  the  right  Book  is.  It  need  not  be 
bound  ;  it  is  for  use  :  to  get  the  right  Book  is 
the  great  point.  I  hope  you  will  so  far  ap- 
prove this  International  Tendency,  and  new 


316  -LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 

virtuosity  on  the  part  of  high  persons  here,  as 
to  lend  due  help  in  the  matter !  "  Absolute 
condition,"  or  sine  qud  non  as  in  the  former 
case. 

I  sent  by  a  private  hand,  some  two  months 
ago,  a  couple  of  Copies  of  Schiller  s  Life,  with 
the  Autograph  you  had  kindly  lent  me.  My 
Messenger  reported  that  you  were  gone  to 
the  baths ;  where  I  suppose  you  still  are.  I 
hope,  well  ? 

In  November  you  will  get  Cromwell's  Let- 
ters;  which  I  hope  you  will  be  able  to  read. 
I  have  had  a  really  frightful  business  of  it 
with  that  book,  which  grew  in  my  hands  into 
rather  unexpected  shape  ; — which  still  detains 
me  here,  now  that  all  the  world  has  quitted 
London.  Accept  many  salutations  and  kind 
wishes  from 

Yours  ever  truly,        T.  CARLYLE. 


XV 

Chelsea  :  Octr.  22,  1845. 

My  dear  Sir, — You  have  again,  as  you  are 
on  all  occasions  doing,  deserved  many  thanks 
from  me.  The  German  Books,  all  right  and 
fit  according  to  the  requisition,  were  an- 
nounced to  me  as  safe  arrived,  three  weeks 
ago,  while  I  was  in  Scotland  on  a  visit  to  my 
native  place  there.  They  were  sent  straight 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


317 


to  the  fair  hands  to  whom  they  now  belonged  ; 
and  due  thanks,  the  real  ownership  of  which 
was  yours,  were  paid  me  by  return  of  Post. 
The  Friedrich  der  Grosse,  I  find,  was  perfectly 
correct ;  not  less  so,  I  will  hope,  the  Geist  der 
Kochkunst !  In  fact  you  have  very  much 
obliged  me  by  your  goodness  in  this  matter ; 
and  now  if  the  Bookseller  will  send  his  ac- 
count, it  will  complete  the  favour ;  and  this 
important  little  matter,  more  important  than 
some  greater  ones,  will  be  well  and  kindly 
finished. 

A  few  days  after  I  wrote  last,  there  came 
to  me,  from  Lewis,  your  Book  on  Hans  von 
Held.  Lewis  had  been  unwell ;  had  hoped 
always  to  bring  the  Book,  and  never  till  then 
decided  on  sending  it.  For  this  Book  also  I 
will  very  heartily  thank  you.  It  is  like  a 
Steel  Engraving ;  has  vividly  printed  on  my 
mind  the  image  of  a  Man  and  his  Environ- 
ment ;  and  in  its  hard  outlines,  bound  up  by 
the  rigours  of  History  and  Authenticity,  one 
traces  indications  enough  of  internal  harmo- 
ny and  rhythm.  As  in  the  Tirynthian  walls, 
built  of  dry  stone,  it  is  said  you  may  trace  the 
architectural  tendencies  that  built  a  Parthenon 
and  an  Iliad,  of  other  materials !  I  found  much 
to  think  of  this  life  of  Held :  new  curiosities 
awakened  as  to  Prussian  life;  new  intimation 
that  the  soul  of  it  as  yet  lay  all  dumb  to  us 
English,  perhaps  to  the  Prussians  themselyes. 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 

They  begin  to  seem  to  me  a  great  People :  a 
kind  of  German-English,  I  sometimes  call 
them ;  great  dumb  Titans, — like  the  other 
Mecklenburger  that  have  come  to  this  side  of 
the  Channel  so  long  since. 

In  my  Scotch  reclusion  I  read  Preuss's  two 
Books  on  "  Friedrich,"  *  which  you  sent  me  a 
long  time  ago.  The  liveliest  curiosity  awoke 
in  me  to  know  more  and  ever  more  about  that 
king.  Certainly  if  there  is  a  Hero  for  an  Epic 
in  these  ages, — and  why  should  there  not  in 
these  ages  as  well  as  others, — then  this  is  he ! 
But  he  remains  still  very  dark  to  me ;  and 
Preuss,  tho'  full  of  minute  knowledge  and 
seemingly  very  authentic,  is  not  exactly  my 
man  for  all  purposes:  In  fact  I  could  like 
to  know  much  more  about  this  king ;  and  if 
of  your  own  knowledge,  or  with  Herr  Preuss' 
help,  you  could  at  any  time  send  me  a  few 
names  of  likely  Books  on  the  subject,  they 
would  not  be  lost  upon  me. 

About  the  middle  of  next  month  the 
Cromwell,  which  is  waiting  for  a  portrait,  and 
also  for  the  return  of  London  Population  from 
the  Country,  is  to  make  its  appearance ;  and 
your  Copy  shall  have  the  earliest  conveyance 
I  can  find.  You  will  of  course  try  to  read  it ; 


*  Friedrich  der  Grosse,  eine  Lebensgeschichte,  Bd.  1-4  (Ber- 
lin, 1832-4),  and  Friedrich  der  Grosse  als  Schriftsteller  (Berlin, 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 

and  if  you  can  get  across  the  rind  of  it,  will 
find  somewhat  to  interest  you.  Gliick  und 
Scgen  always ! 

Yours  most  truly,       T.  CARLYLE. 


XVI 

Chelsea:  Novr.  13,  1845. 

My  dear  Sir, — Again  accept  many  thanks 
for  your  kind  letter,  for  your  kind  punctuality 
in  sending  me  that  little  Note  of  Monies,  which 
completes  our  small  book-operation,  and  per- 
fects  your  service  to  me  in  regard  to  it.  Here 
is  Bookseller  Nutt's  receipt  for  the  amount; 
and  so  we  conclude  with  the  Scotch  wish  on 
glad  occasions,  "  May  never  worse  be  among 
us!" 

Your  commission  for  the  Schiller  Portraits 
was  very  easily  executed.  I  have  made  the 
Bookseller  send  you  six,  that  you  might  have 
two  still  on  hand,  since  four  were  already  dis- 
posed of :  they  are  put  into  a  copy  of  the  little 
book  itself,  and  are  to  leave  London,  by  Nutt's 
Parcel,  on  Tuesday  next,  four  days  hence.  I 
hope  they  will  come  all  right ;  and  be  a  mo- 
mentary pleasure  to  your  friends  and  you.  I 
have  not  been  able  to  see  them  myself;  but 
Chapman  the  Bookseller  is  a  punctual  man. 
About  the  beginning  of  December  he  will 
send  you  by  the  same  conveyance,  a  copy  of 
the  Cromwell :  a  rather  bungling  Engraver  is 


320 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE, 


busy  with  a  Portrait  of  the  old  Puritan  Hero, 
— which  I  am  somewhat  afraid  he  will  spoil. 
Our  Artists  are,  for  most  part,  properly  Me- 
chanics ;  and  excel,  if  at  all,  only  in  that  latter 
department ! 

We  have  Preusss  big  book  in  our  library 
here,  tho'  not  quite  accessible  at  present.  I 
design  to  consult  it  and  others  by  and  by. 
Archcnholz*  is  an  old  friend  of  mine;  the  first 
book  I  ever  read  in  German, — many  years  ago 
now  ! — By  the  way,  would  you  on  some  good 
occasion  send  me  a  complete  list  of  all  your 
writings?  We  have  most  of  them  here  in 
our  London  Library,  a  favourite  reading  for 
all  manner  of  intelligent  men  and  women  :  but 
I  think  they  are  hardly  all  here,  and  we  ought 
to  have  them  all.  Pray  do  not  forget  this. — I 
have  lately  been  reading  Biilow-Cammerowf 
on  Prussia :  a  somewhat  commonplace,  long- 
winded,  watery  man :  out  of  whom,  however, 
I  glean  some  glimpses  of  Prussian  life,  which 
are  very  strange  to  me.  Almost  the  converse 
of  ours ;  full  of  struggle,  full  of  energy  and 
difficulty ;  so  like  and  so  unlike  ! 

*  Geschichle  des  siebenjahrigen  Krieges,  von  F.  W.  von 
Archenholz,  published  first  in  Berliner  historishes  Jahrluch  of 
1789. 

\Preussen,  seine  Verfassung,  seine  Verwa hung  sein  Verhalt- 
niss  zu  Deutschland,  von  Ernst  Gottfried  Georg  von  Biilow- 
Cummerow.  The  book  was  published  1^42,  first  gift  of  the 
liberty  of  censorship,  afforded  by  cabinet's  order  of  the  4  Octo- 
ber, 1842,  to  books  above  320  pages. 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


321 


Our  wanderings  here  are  not  yet  concluded. 
The  day  after  to-morrow  we  go  down  to  the 
Sea-Coast  in  Hampshire,  for  a  week  or  two  of 
winter  sunshine,  and  the  sight  of  kind  friends, 
in  a  climate  much  superior  to  London  at  this 
season.  One  of  our  gracious  Hosts  is  the  Lady 
to  whom  that  Friedrick  Book  of  Prints  you 
sent  us  has  gone. — I  should  have  told  you  long 
since  that  my  Wife  made  friendship  with  Miss 
Wynne,  of  whom  we  hope  to  see  more  in  time 
coming. 

And  now  for  the  present,  Farewell.  I  will 
wish  strength  and  good-speed ;  courageous 
resistance  to  the  Winter,  and  to  all  other  ene- 
mies and  obstacles,  of  which  a  man  finds  al- 
ways enough ! 

With  true  regard  yours  always, 

T.  CARLYLE. 

XVII 

Chelsea,  London  :  Deer.  16,  1846. 

My  dear  Sir, — Yesterday  there  went  from 
Mr.  Nutt's  shop,  imbedded,  I  suppose,  in  a 
soft  mass  of  English  Literature, — a  small  box 
bearing  your  address ;  which  I  hope  may  reach 
you  safely,  in  time  for  a  New-year's  remem- 
brance of  me.  It  is  a  model  of  the  Tomb  of 
Shakespeare,  done  by  one  ingenuous  little  artist 
here  ;  which  may  perhaps  interest  you  or  some 
of  your  friends,  for  a  moment.  I  understand 


322 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


the  likeness  in  all  respects  to  be  nearly  perfect, 
— which  indeed  is  the  sole  merit  of  such  a 
thing  ; — a  perfect  copy  of  the  old  monument, 
as  it  stands  within  Stratford  Church  for  these 
two  centuries  and  more : — only  with  regard  to 
that  part  of  the  Inscription,  "  Sweet  friends, 
for  Jesus'  sake,"  etc.  to  these  lines,  which  in 
the  model  have  found  room  for  themselves 
directly  under  the  Figure  of  Shakespeare,  you 
are  to  understand  that,  in  the  original,  they  lay 
on  the  floor  of  the  Church,  some  three  feet  in 
advance  of  the  Figure  ;  in  fact,  covering  the 
dust  of  the  Poet;  the  Figure  itself  standing, 
at  the  head  of  the  grave,  against  the  wall. — 
And  so  enough  of  it ;  and  may  the  poor  little 
Package  arrive  safe,  and  kindly  bring  me  be- 
fore you  again ! — 

I  have  been  silent  this  long  while,  only 
hearing  of  you  from  third  parties  ;  the  more  is 
the  pity  for  me.  In  fact,  I  have  not  been  well ; 
travelling,  too,  in  Scotland,  in  Ireland ;  much 
tumbled  about  by  manifold  confusions  out- 
ward and  inward ;  and  have,  on  the  whole, 
been  silent  to  all  the  world  ;  silent  till  clearer 
days  should  come.  I  have  still  no  fixed  work ; 
nothing  in  the  dark  chaos  that  it  could  seem 
beautiful  to  conquer  and  do; — no  work  to  write 
at ;  and  as  for  reading,  alas  that  has  become, 
and  is  ever  more  becoming,  a  most  sorry  busi- 
ness for  me ;  and  often  enough  I  feel  as  if 
Caliph  Omar,  long  ago,  was  pretty  much  in 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


323 


the  right  after  all ;  as  if  there  might  be  worse 
feats  than  burning  whole  continents  of  rhe- 
torical, logical,  historical,  philosophical  jangle, 
and  insincere  obsolete  rubbish,  out  of  one's 
way  ;  and  leaving  some  living  God's-message, 
real  Koran  or  "  Thing  worth  reading,"  in  its 
stead !  These  are  my  heterodoxies,  my  para- 
doxes of  which  too  I  try  to  know  the  limits. 
But  in  very  deed  I  do  expect  from  the  region 
of  Silence  some  salvation  for  myself  and  others ; 
not  from  the  region  of  Speech,  of  written  or 
Oral  Babblement,  unless  that  latter  very  much 
alter  soon !  Cant  has  filled  the  whole  uni- 
verse,— from  Nadir  up  to  Zenith, — God  de- 
liver us! 

Preuss's  FriedricJi  has  not  yet  reached 
hither,  except  thro'  private  channels  ;  but  I 
mean  to  make  an  effort  for  sight  of  it  by  and 
by.  I  have  the  old  OELuvres  de  Frederic  beside 
me  here ;  but  without  chronology  and  perpet- 
ual commentary  they  are  entirely  illegible. — 
Zinzendorf  *  received  long  since,  and  read : 

thanks ! 

Yours  ever  truly, 

T.  CARLYLE. 

*  Varnhagen  von  Ense,  Leben  des  Graf  en  von  Zinzendorf,  in 
the  5th  volume  of  the  Biographische  Denkmale,  1830. 


324  LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


XVIII 

Chelsea,  London  :  March  3,  1847. 

My  dear  Sir, — Some  ten  days  ago  your 
new  volume  of  Dcnkwiirdigkeiten  was  safely 
handed  in  to  me ;  I  fancy  it  must  have  been 
delayed  among  the  ices  of  the  Elbe,  for  the 
note  accompanying  it  bears  date  a  good 
while  back.  Thanks  for  this  new  kindness :  a 
valued  Gift,  to  be  counted  with  very  many 
other  which  I  now  owe  to  you. — Some  time  be- 
fore, there  had  arrived  your  announcement 
that  the  little  Tomb  of  Shakespeare  had  made  its 
way  across  the  impediments  and,  what  was 
very  welcome  to  me,  that  you  meant  to  show 
it  to  Herr  Tick.  Surely,  there  is  no  man  in 
all  the  world  that  deserves  better  to  see  it ! 
Will  you  say  to  him,  if  he  knows  my  name  at 
all,  that  I  send  him  my  affectionate  respects 
and  salutations ;  that,  for  the  last  twenty  years 
and  more,  he  has  flourished  always  in  my  mind 
as  a  true  noble  "  Singing-Tree  "  in  that  Ger- 
man land  of  Phantasus  and  Poesis,  that  I,  and 
very  many  here,  still  listen  to  him  with  the 
friendliest  regards,  with  true  love  and  rever- 
ence, and  bid  him  live  long  as  a  veteran  very 
precious  to  us.  Your  king  did  no  act  that  got 
him  more  votes  from  the  instructed  part  of 
this  Community,  than  that  of  his  recalling  Tick 
in  the  way  he  did,  to  a  country  where  he  was 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


325 


indeed  unique,  and  which  had  good  reason  to 
be  proud  of  him. 

I  have  read  the  new  volume  ot  Denkwiirdig- 
keiten ;  and  am  veritably  called  to  thank  you, 
not  in  my  private  capacity  alone,  but  as  a  speak- 
er for  the  Public  withal.  If  the  Public  thought 
as  I  do  on  such  matters, — that  is  to  say,  if  the 
Public  were  not  more  or  less  a  blockhead — the 
Public  would  say  to  itself,  "  This  is  the  kind  of 
thing  that  before  all  others  is  good  for  me  at 
present !  This,  to  give  me  an  account  of  memo- 
rable actions  and  events,  in  more  and  more 
compact,  intelligent,  illuminative  form,  evolving 
for  me  more  and  more  the  real  essence  of  said 
actions  and  events,— this  is  Literature,  Art, 
Poetry,  or  what  name  you  like  to  give  it ;  this 
is  the  real  problem  the  writing -man  has  to 
solve  for  me,  at  present."  Truly  if  I  had  com- 
mand over  you,  I  should  say,  "  Memoirs,  and 
ever  new  Memoirs !  "  There  are  no  books 
that  give  me  so  lively  an  impression  of  mod- 
ern Facts  as  this  of  yours  do.  Withal  I  get  a 
view  as  if  into  the  very  heart  of  Prussia  thro' 
them  ;  which  also  is  highly  valuable  to  me.  I 
can  only  bid  you  persevere,  give  us  what  is  pos- 
sible ;  and  must  reflect  with  regret  that  one 
man's  capabilities  in  such  respect  are  limited 
and  not  unlimited. — Last  week  too  I  have  read, 
with  the  liveliest  interest,  your  book  on  Blu- 
cher,  which  I  had  not  sufficiently  studied  before. 
A  Capital  Book ;  a  capital  rough  old  Prussian 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE, 

Mastiff  set  forth  to  us  there  !  I  seem  to  see 
old  Bliicher  face  to  face  ;  recognise  his  su- 
preme and  indispensable  worth  in  that  vast 
heterogeneous  Combination, — which  also  to 
him  was  indispensable;  for  in  a  common  ele- 
ment, one  sees,  he  might  very  easily  have 
spent  himself,  as  hundreds  like  him  have  done, 
to  comparatively  small  purpose  ;  but  that  huge 
inert  mass  was  always  there  to  fall  back  upon, 
to  be  excited  and  ever  anew  excited,  till  it  also 
had  to  kindle  and  flame  along  with  him. 
"  Kerle,  Ihr  sehet  aus  wie  Sehweine!  "  and  then 
these  scenes,  as  at  Katztadt,  "  Napoleon  just 
behind  me,  say  you  ?  "  or  to  the  enthusiastic 
Public  on  the  streets  of  Halberstadt,  "  So  mogt 
Ihrdennalle — /  " — I  have  laughed  aloud  at  such 
naiveties,  every  time  they  have  come  into  my 
mind  since.  Thanks  again  and  again  for  paint- 
ing us  such  pictures,  a  real  possession  for  all 
men. 

Probably  you  are  aware  there  is  a  kind  of 
translation  going  on  for  your  Works,  for  our 
behoof,  at  present?  One  Murray,  a  principal 
Bookseller  here,  has  decided  on  picking  out 
two  volumes  from  you,  for  a  Series  of  Books 
("  Home  and  Colonial  Library,"  or  some  such 
name)  which  he  is  going  on  with,  in  these  years. 
The  Translator  is  of  the  Austin  Firm,  which 
is  partly  known  to  you ; — respectable,  he  and 
'his  Enterprize,  and  to  be  welcomed  in  the 
meanwhile ;  but  I  cannot  but  heartily  wish  he 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


327 


and  his  party  had  let  the  matter  alone ;  for 
precisely  in  those  days  I  had  in  private  set 
another  young  man,  of  much  superior  talent, 
upon  the  same  adventure,  and  had  got  a  book- 
seller too — when  this  announcement  of  the 
Hurrays  and  Austins  brought  us  to  a  sudden 
stop.  Meanwhile,  as  I  say,  the  thing  is  not  to 
be  regretted  ;  the  thing  is  to  be  welcomed  in 
its  place  and  time  ;  will  do  good  in  the  mean- 
while, and  prepare  us  by  and  by  for  better. 

Of  my  own  affairs  I  can  report  no  alteration 
hitherto.  I  remain  contentedly  idle ;  shall 
doubtless  feel  a  call  to  work  again  by  and 
by,  but  wait  unbeschreiblicJi  ruhig  (as  Attila 
Schmelze*  has  it)  for  that  questionable  con- 
summation !  I  am  very  serious  in  my  ever- 
deepening  regard  for  the  "  Silences  "  that  are 
in  our  Existence,  quite  unheeded  in  these  poor 
days  ;  and  do,  for  myself,  regard  Book-writing 
in  such  a  time  as  but  a  Pis-aller.  With  which 
nevertheless  one  must  persevere  !  Adieu,  my 
dear  Sir  ;  enliven  me  soon  by  another  letter. 

Yours  ever, 

T.  CARLYLE. 


*  Des  Feldpredigers  Schmelze  Reise  nach  Flats  mit  fortge hen- 
den  Noten;  nebst  der  Beichte  des  Teufels  bei  einem  Staatsmanne. 
Von  Jean  Paul,  1809.  The  little  book  seems  to  have  been  much 
in  favour  in  Carlyle's  house,  for  also  his  wife  alludes  to  it  in  a  let- 
ter written  from  Liverpool  the  23rd  July,  1845.  Above  the  date 
she  writes  :  "  First  day  in  Flatz  "  (cf.  Letters  and  Memorials  of 
Jane  Welsh  Carlyle,  vol.  i.  p.  310). 


328  LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


XIX 

Chelsea,  London  :  Nov.  5,  1847. 

My  dear  Sir, — It  is  a  long  time  since  I  heard 
from  you  ;  a  long  time  since  I  wrote  to  you, — 
a  still  longer  indeed  ;  so  that,  however  I  may 
regret,  there  is  no  room  for  complaining :  it  is 
my  own  blame  !  Your  last  letter  found  me  in 
Yorkshire  ;  wandering  about  the  country,  as  I 
long  continue  to  do,  in  the  brightest  Autumn 
weather ;  I  did  not  get  the  Schiller  book  *  into 
actual  possession  till  my  return  home,  some 
little  while  ago  ;  when  I  found  there  had  a 
second  volume  also  arrived.  Many  kind  thanks 
to  you  for  such  a  Gift.  For  its  own  worth, 
and  for  sake  of  the  Giver,  it  is  right  welcome 
to  me.  I  finished  the  second  volume  last  night ; 
my  most  interesting  book  for  many  months 
past:  in  great  haste,  I  send  you  forthwith  a 
word  of  hasty  acknowledgement ; — in  great 
eagerness  for  the  Sequel  too  !  The  book  does 
not  say  who  is  Editor ;  have  not  You  yourself 
perhaps  some  hand  in  it?  Whoever  the  Ed- 
itor may  be,  the  whole  world  is  bound  to  thank 
him.  Never  before  did  one  see  Schiller ;  the 
authentic  homely  Prose  Schiller,  out  of  whom 
the  Hero  Schiller  as  seen  in  Poetry  and  on  the 
Public  Stage  hitherto,  had  to  fashion  himself 

*  Schiller's  Briefiocchsel  mit  Korner,  whose  first  edition  was 
then  published. 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


329 


and  grow !  And  truly,  as  you  say,  they  aje 
one  and  the  same.  For  the  veracity,  and  real 
unconscious  manliness  of  this  poor  hungry 
Schiller  of  Prose,  fighting  his  battle  with  the 
confusion  of  the  world,  are  everywhere  admi- 
rable. No  cant  in  him,  no  weak  sentimentalism  ; 
he  has  recognised  the  rugged  fact  in  all  its 
contradictoriness ;  looks  round,  with  rapid 
eager  eye,  upon  his  various  milk -cows  of 
finance,  "  This  one  will  yield  me  so  much,  that 
so  much,  and  I  shall  get  thro'  after  all !  " — and 
is  climbing  towards  the  Ideal,  all  the  while,  by 
an  impulse  as  if  from  the  Gods.  Throughout 
I  recollected  that  Portrait  you  sent  me  ;  with 
its  big  jaws,  loose  lips,  hasty  eager  eyes, — all 
as  in  loose  onset  and  advance,  "  Forward ! 
Forward ! "  Poor  Schiller,  there  is  some- 
thing that  one  loves  extremely  in  that  ragged 
careless  aspect  of  him  ;  true  to  the  very  heart : 
a  veritable  Brother  and  Man  !  Korner  too  I 
hear  universally  recognised  as  a  Tflchtiger ; 
full  of  sense,  of  friendly  candour  and  fidelity : 
it  is  rarely  that  one  reads  such  a  Correspond- 
ence between  two  modern  men.  Thanks  to 
you  all  for  giving  it  to  us  ;  thanks  to  you  indi- 
vidually for  sending  it  me  at  once. 

I  would  fain  send  you  some  news  of  myself ; 
but  alas,  that  is  a  very  waste  Chapter,  not  fit 
for  entering  upon,  to-day  !  I  have  no  work 
on  hand  that  can  be  named ;  I  feel  only  that 
the  whole  world  of  England,  of  Europe, 


330 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


grows  daily  full  of  new  meanings,  which  it  well 
beseems  all  persons  of  intelligence  to  try  if 
they  can  read  and  speak.  For  the  rest,  I  am 
very  solitary ;  by  choice  and  industry,  keep 
solitary :  the  world  here,  especially  the  world 
of  "  Literature "  so  called,  is  not  my  world. 
In  fact  I  begin  very  greatly  to  despise  the 
thing  they  call  "  Literature," — and  to  envy  the 
active  ages  that  had  none  of  it.  A  waste  sea 
of  vocables :  what  salvation  is  there  in  that  ? 
Ranke's  failure*  does  not  surprise  me:  If  I 
were  a  Prussian,  even  a  German,  I  would 
decidedly  try  Friedrich.  Adieu  my  dear  Sir: 
be  kind  and  write  again  soon. 

Yours  ever  truly,        T.  CARLYLE. 

XX 

Chelsea:  Deer.  29,  1848. 

My  dear  Sir, — It  is  a  long  sad  time  since  I 
have  written  to  you,  or  could  expect  to  hear 
any  word  directly  from  you  :  for  indeed  I  have 
been,  and  still  am,  in  an  altogether  inarticulate 
condition  ;  writing  to  nobody ;  in  the  highest 
degree  indisposed  to  writing  or  uttering  of 
myself  in  any  kind  !  You  do  not  doubt  but 

*  The  Neun  Biicher  preussiscJier  Geschichte,  which  were 
published  1847  and  which,  at  the  time  of  their  first  appearance, 
underwent  a  most  unfavourable  critique  by  many  parts.  Cf.  the 
disapproving  judgment  of  Varnhagen  in  Brief e  Varnhagens  an 
tine  Freundln,  Hamburg,  1860,  p.  70  sq. 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


33* 


many  kind  thoughts  and  remembrances  have 
crossed  the  sea  to  you,  all  this  while  ;  nor  do 
we  want  evidence  of  the  like  on  your  part; 
nay,  from  Miss  Wynn  and  otherwise,  we  have 
pretty  accurately  known  how  you  were  going 
on,  and  have  generally  had  some  image  of  you 
kept  lurid  and  vivid  in  our  circle  here.  For- 
give my  silence — silence  is  not  good  altogether, 
when  there  are  kind  hearts  that  will  listen  and 
reply  !  The  advent  of  the  New  Year  admon- 
ishes me  that  I  should  open  my  leaden  lips,  and 
speak  once  more, — were  it  but  as  Odin's  Proph- 
etess, from  the  belly  of  the  Grave !  In  the 
language  of  the  season,  I  wish  you  a  right 
brave  New  Year,  and  as  many  of  them  as  your 
heart  can  still  victoriously  port  in  such  a 
world.  Courage  !  En  avant!  I  will  start  up 
too,  some  day,  and  march  along  with  you 
again,  I  doubt  not. 

Some  weeks  ago  your  little  Pamphlet  on 
the  question  of  German  Unity  (Scklichte  Reden) 
came  to  me,  a  welcome  little  word,  which  I 
read  with  entire  assent.  This  was  your  mes- 
sage hitherward  ;  and  now,  the  other  day,  I 
despatched  for  you  a  little  old  Book  of  mine 
which  they  have  been  republishing  here ; — a 
book  of  no  moment ;  which  probably  you 
already  have  received :  let  this  be  a  small 
memento  from  me,  when  you  look  upon  it. 
Whether  I  shall  ever  write  another  book  in 
this  world  has  often  seemed  uncertain  to  me 


332 


LETTERS  FROM   CARLYLE. 


of  late  ;  but  I  believe  I  shall  have   to   try  it 
again  before  long,  or  else  do  worse ! 

What  a  year  we  have  had  since  February 
last !  The  universal  breaking  down  of  old 
rotten  thrones,  and  bursting  up  of  street-barri- 
cades ;  enfuriated  Sansculottisra  everywhere 
starting  up,  and  glaring  like  a  world-basilisk 
into  the  empty  Wan-Wan  that  pretended  to  be 
a  god  to  it.  "  What  art  thou,  accursed  con- 
temptibility  of  a  Wan- Wan  ?  " — It  is  to  me  the 
most  sordid,  scandalous  and  dismal  sight  the 
world  ever  offered  in  my  time;  and  if  there 
were  not  in  the  dark  womb  of  that  "  abomina- 
tion of  desolation  "  a  ray  of  eternal  light  for 
me,  I  should  think  (like  poor  Niebuhr)  the  uni- 
verse was  going  out,  and  pray  for  my  own 
share,  "  From  me  hide  it."  But  withal  I  dis- 
cern well,  none  more  loyally.  It  is  a  sacred 
phenomenon,  a  fulfilment  of  the  eternal  proph- 
ecies, the  beginning  of  a  new  birth  of  the 
world.  A  general  "  bankruptcy  of  Imposture  " 
(so  I  define  it) ;  Imposture,  long  known  by  the 
wise  for  what  it  was,  is  now  known  and  de- 
clared for  such  to  the  foolish  at  the  market- 
cross,  and  admits  openly  that  it  is  a  bankrupt 
piece  of  scandalism,  and  requests  only  time  to 
gather  up  its  rags,  and  walk  away  unhanged. 
How  can  I  lament  at  this?  Dismal,  abomina- 
ble as  the  sight  is,  I  cannot  but  intrinsically 
rejoice  at  it.  And  yet  what  a  Future  lies 
before  us,  for  centuries  to  come,  —  if  we 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


333 


had   any  thought  within  us,  which  very  few 
have. 

The  feeling  here  among  considerate  persons 
is,  that  Germany,  in  spite  of  all  the  explosions 
of  nonsense  we  have  seen,  will  certainly  re- 
cover some  balance  ;  and  march  like  a  brave 
country, — not  towards  Chaos,  as  some  others 
seem  to  do  !  We  can  understand  that  it  is  all 
the  dirty,  the  foul  and  mutinous  folly  that 
comes  first  to  the  top:  but  Germany  deceives 
us  all  if  there  be  not  abundant  silent  heroic 
faculty  in  the  heart  of  it ; — and  indeed  it  is  to 
England  and  Dejutschland  that  the  Problem 
seems  to  me  now  to  have  fallen  :  and  a  dread- 
ful Problem  it  is, — zwsoluble  by  the  Southern 
genius,  as  we  see.  God  assist  us  all ! 
I  am  ever  your  affectionate  Friend, 

T.  CARLYLE. 

Goethe  and  the  Frau  von  Stein :  but  that  de- 
serves a  chapter  by  itself !  I  read  your  copy. 
With  pleasant  wonder,  which  has  not  yet  sub- 
sided into  clear  appreciation.* 

*  Goethcs  Priefe  an  Frau  von  Stein,  herausgegeben  von 
Adolf  Scholl,  1848-51.  In  the  same  time  Carlyle  wrote  about 
this  book  to  his  friend,  often  mentioned  in  these  letters,  Miss 
Carlotte  Williams  Wynn  : — "  I  have  read  little  yet — Goethe  is 
quite  Wertherian — and  the  Frau  von  Stein,  a  consummate  flirt, 
seems  to  have  led  an  edifying  life, — what  did  the  poor  Herrvon 
Stein  say  to  it?"  "  This  is  a  coarse  view,"  says  Miss  Wynn  in 
her  letter  to  Varnhagen,  to  whom  she  communicates  it,  "  but  so 
like  Carlyle  that  I  give  it." 
22 


334 


LETTERS  FROM   CARLYLE. 


[There  is  a  "  Memorandum  "  joined  to  this 
letter,  on  a  particular  bit  of  paper :] 

My  wife,  for  above  a  year  past,  is  acquainted 
with  your  works  done  on  paper  by  the  scissors  ; 
works  that  fill  the  female  fingers  with  despair, 
— the  female  heart  with  desire  to  possess  for 
itself  a  few  specimens.  Can  you  kindly  think 
of  this,  some  after-dinner? — T.  C. 


XXI 

Chelsea:  Deer.  24,  1850. 

My  dear  Sir, — At  the  winter  solstice,  when 
Christmas  Carols  are  about  breaking  out,  and 
men  are  remembering  old  friends,  I  again 
write  to  you.  For  many  months  past,  I  have 
been  too  sickly  and  dispirited  to  write  to  any 
one ;  indeed,  of  late,  the  burden  of  life  falls  so 
heavy  on  me,  and  things  in  this  strange  epoch 
are  so  intricate  around  and  in  me,  I  feel  it  kind 
of  necessity  to  hold  my  peace,  and  contemplate 
the  Inextricable  without  attempting  to  name  it 
at  all.  I  do  confidently  hope  to  reacquire  the 
use  of  speech,  and  with  it  much  human  joy  at 
present  very  much  forborne : — in  the  mean- 
while I  can  say  :  old  friends  are  only  the  more 
dear  and  sacred  to  me  that  I  have  to  look  at 
them  as  if  I  were  already  in  Hades, — as  if  they 
and  I  had  no  portion  but  in  Eternity,  and  our 
speech  to  one  another,  for  the  present,  were  as 
that  of  Gods,  a  mute  symbolical  one  !  Perhaps 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


335 


you  understand  all  this,  out  of  your  own  ex- 
perience  too  ;  at  any  rate,  I  know  you  will  for- 
give  it,  and  look  kindly  on  it  as  you  do  on  all 
things. 

We  regularly  hear  of  you  thro'  Miss  Wynne 
and  otherwise  ;  we  had  Berlin  visitors  not  long 
since,  and  looked  direct  upon  faces  that  had 
lately  looked  on  you.  Many  kind  and  pleasant 
messages  have  we  had,  and  none  that  was  not 
kind  and  pleasant,  from  Herrn  Varnhagen  ;  for 
all  which,  accept  gratitude  if  we  have  nothing 
better ! — The  other  evening  Miss  Wynne  was 
with  us ;  and  we  hoped  to  have  persuaded  her 
again  to-morrow  ;  but  she  decides  to  pass  this 
Christmas  day,  the  first  after  her  Father's 
death,  in  solitude  and  silence.  Which  also  we 
reckon  to  be  good. — You  will  be  rejoiced  to 
learn  that,  since  this  final  consummation  and 
winding  up  of  her  many  toils  and  sorrows,  her 
health  appears  decidedly  to  begin  improving ; 
and  friends  look  forward  with  assurance 
towards  better  days  for  this  excellent  and 
amiable  person.  Of  Milnes,*  Bolte,f  etc.  I  say 
nothing  ;  for  I  suppose  you  hear  of  them  much 
oftener  than  I  do,  at  this  season  of  the  year. 

But  let  me  state  my  special  errand  before 
my  paper  end.  I  have  a  favour  to  ask  on  this 
occasion  ;  and  I  know  you  will  do  in  it  for  me 

*  Monckton 'Milnes,  afterwards  (since  1863)  Lord  Houghton. 

f  The  lately  (November  1891)  deceased  German  authoress 

Amely  Bolte,  who,  while  she  lived  in  London,  frequented  much 


336  LETTERS  FROM   CARLYLE. 

what  you  can, — my  only  apprehension  is  that 
you  put  yourself  about  to  do  more.  Beware  of 
that  latter  extreme  ;  and  hear  in  brief  what  the 
matter  is.  A  certain  Herr  Neuberg  *  who  has 
lived  long  in  England,  and  has  now  revisited 
Germany  (a  VViirtemberger,  I  think),  is  resident 
at  Bonn  this  winter ;  and  I  think  meditates 
some  journey  to  Berlin  soon.  He  is  a  man  of 
unostentatious  but  truly  superior  character ; 
a  most  pious,  clear,  resolute,  modest  and 
earnest  man  ;  with  excellent  insights  and  facul- 
ties ;  well  acquainted  both  with  our  literature 
and  yours,  and  indeed  knows  England  and 
English  affairs  better  probably  than  any 
stranger  you  have  met.  This  Neuberg,  who 
was  twenty  years  a  merchant  in  this  country, 
and  then,  finding  himself  possessed  of  a  com- 
petence and  totally  without  enthusiasm  for 

Carlyle  and  his  wife.  Engaged  by  Carlyle  to  gather  autographs 
for  Varnhagen,  she  was  in  correspondence  with  this  latter  since 
1844,  and  has,  after  his  death,  published  his  letters  to  her  in  a 
book  entitled  VarnJiagens  Briefe  an  eine  Frenndin,  Leipzig, 
1860.  Carlyle  devotes  to  her  in  a  note  to  the  Letters  and 
Memorials  of  Jane  Welsh  Carlyle  a  characteristic  not  altogether 
flattering :  "  This  was  a  bustling,  shifty  little  German  governess, 
who,  in  a  few  years,  managed  to  pick  up  some  modicum  of 
money  here,  and  then  retired  with  it  to  Dresden,  wholly  devot- 
ing herself  to  literature."  More  mildly  judged  his  wife  about 
her,  in  a  letter  written  to  him  August  13,  1843  :  "  In  the  even- 
ing I  had  Miss  Bolte  till  after  tea  .  .  .  she  is  really  a  fine 
manly  little  creature,  with  a  deal  of  excellent  sense,  and  not 
without  plenty  of  German  enthusiasm,  for  all  so  humdrum  as 
she  looks."  (Vol.  i.  p.  234  sj.) 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE.  337 

more,  decided  to  give  up  business,  and  live 
henceforth  among  intellectual  objects, — ap- 
pears to  have  produced  some  small  volume  for 
the  Press  (I  think  it  consists  mainly  of  transla- 
tions from  me,  upon  the  subject  of  Work) ;  and 
this  chiefty  is  his  errand  to  Berlin  at  present. 
In  which  matter  it  is  naturally  clear  to  him  of 
how  much,  service  you,  whose  works,  qualities 
and  position  are  well  known  to  him  as  to  every- 
one, might  be ;  wherefore  he  modestly  insinu- 
ates, not  a  request,  but  a  hint  or  wish  that  I 
would  introduce  him.  Being  a  man  whom  I 
so  much  esteem,  and  who  has  really  so  much 
sense  and  practicality,  and  deserves  so  much 
esteem,  there  is  no  refusing  him  this  favour : 
accordingly,  either  by  post  from  Bonn,  or  more 
probably  direct  from  hand  in  Berlin,  you  will 
likely  soon  receive  a  card  of  mine  introducing 
Neuberg  and  his  little  errand  ;  whom  I  will 
only  ask  you  to  receive  for  my  sake  and  to 
treat  farther  according  as  the  circumstances 
seem  to  yourself  to  direct.  His  Manuscript,  I 
believe,  is  of  no  great  length,  and  will  probably 
be  very  clearly  written :  if  you  pleased  to  run 
your  eye  over  it,  and  give  him  any  advice,  he 

*  Joseph  Neuberg,  born  1806  at  Wiirzburg  (not  a  Wurtem- 
berger  therefore,  but  a  Bavarian),  died  1867,  friend  of  Carlyle, 
translated  Heroes,  Hero-worship  and  the  Heroic  in  History,  and 
the  first  four  volumes  of  Ftiedrich  II.  into  German,  and 
gathered  out  of  his  works  Beitr&ge  zum  Evangelium  der  Arbeit. 
Cf.  about  him  the  Deutsche  Rundschau,  1884,  vol.  xli.  p.  144 
tff. 


338  LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 

would  be  very  grateful  for  it  (as  should  I),  and 
would  receive  it  with  a  truly  intelligent  and 
modest  mind.  But,  once  more,  let  this  "be,  I 
entreat  you,  just  as  the  case  directs ;  for  neither 
N.  nor  I  will  be  so  unfair  as  to  make  any  re- 
quest about  it,  or  entertain  any  expectation 
upon  it.  With  regard  to  the  man  himself,  I 
much  mistake  if  you  do  not  find  him  a  rather 
pleasant  incidental  acquaintance,  with  conver- 
sation which  will  entertain  you  well  on  various 
subjects  ; — and  as  such  I  will  beg  you  to  wel- 
come him ;  leaving  the  rest  to  follow,  or  not 
to  follow,  as  the  law  of  the  phenomenon  pre- 
scribes. 

And  so  adieu,  my  dear  Sir;  with  many 
wishes  and  regards,  suitable  at  this  season  and 
at  all  seasons.  I  hope  to  write  again,  about 
many  other  more  interesting  matters ;  I  even 
hope  to  hear  from  you  again.  We  are  full 
of  "  Papal  Aggression,"  "  Crystal  Palace,"  and 
other  nonsense  of  which  I  say  nothing  just 
now.  Yours  ever  truly, 

T.  CARLYLE. 

XXII 

Chelsea:  Octr.  29,  1851. 

My  dear  Sir, — Mr.  Neuberg  intimates  to 
me,  the  other  night,  that  he  is  about  returning 
to  Germany,  probably  to  Berlin  among  other 
places,  and  that  he  will  take  charge  of  any 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


339 


packet  of  "  Autographs  "  or  other  small  ware, 
which  I  may  have  to  send  you.  By  way  of 
acknowledgement  for  your  great  kindness  to 
Neuberg,  if  not  for  infinitely  more  solid  rea- 
son, I  ought  to  rouse  myself,  and  constitute 
him  my  mesenger  on  this  occasion!  He  is 
deeply  sensible  of  your  goodness  to  him  ;  and 
surely  so  am  I,  to  whom  it  is  not  the  first  nor 
the  hundred-and-first  example  of  your  dis- 
position in  that  respect.  Many  thanks  I  give 
you  always,  whether  I  express  them  in  words 
or  do  not  at  all  express  them.  This  I  believe 
you  know ;  and  so  we  need  not  say  more  of 
it  at  present. 

There  were  other  letters  I  had  laid  up  for 
you ;  which  seem,  in  some  household  earth- 
quake to  have  been  destroyed,  at  least  they 
are  undiscoverable  now  when  I  search  for 
them  ;  but  by  the  present  sample  I  think  you 
will  infer  that  they  were  not  good  for  much, 
— hardly  one  or  two  by  persons  of  any  note  or 
singularity,  whom  you  are  not  already  ac- 
quainted with,  so  far  as  handwriting  can  bring 
acquaintance :  such  were  those  now  fallen 
aside,  such  are  these  now  sent ;  if  they  yield 
you  a  moment's  amusement  in  your  solitude, 
and  kindly  bring  you  in  mind  of  a  friendly 
hand  far  away,  they  will  do  all  the  function 
they  are  fit  for.  About  a  fortnight  ago  I 
despatched,  without  any  letter  enclosed,  a 
volume  I  have  been  publishing  lately,  Biog- 


340 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


raphy  of  a  deceased  Friend  of  mine.*  This 
also  I  hope  you  have  got,  or  will  soon  get, 
and  may  derive  a  little  pleasure  from.  It  will 
give  you  a  kind  of  glimpse  into  modern  English 
life  ;  and  may  suggest  reflexions  and  considera- 
tions which,  to  a  human  reader  like  yourself, 
are  not  without  value.  I  wrote  it  last  sum- 
mer when  we  were  all  in  Babel  uproar  with 
the  thing  they  called  "  Crystal  Palace," — such 
a  gathering  of  jubilant  Windbeutclm  from  all 
the  four  corners  of  the  world  as  was  never  let 
loose  on  our  poor  city  before  ! — in  which  sad 
circumstances  all  serious  study  was  as  good 
as  impossible ;  and,  not  to  go  quite  out  of  pa- 
tience, one  had  to  resolve  on  doing  something 
that  did  not  need  study.  Thank  the  gods,  we 
are  now  rid  of  that  loud  delirium,  of  street- 
cabs,  stump  oratory,  and  general  Hallelujah 
to  the  Prince  of  the  Power  of  the  Air, — what 
I  used  to  call  the  "  Wind-dust-ry  of  all  Nations ; " 
— and  may  the  angry  Fates  never  send  the 
like  of  it  again  in  my  time ! 

In  the  end  of  July  I  ran  off  to  try  a  month 
of  Water  Cure,  which  has  done  me  no  ill,  and 
not  traceably  very  much  good ;  after  which  I 
went  to  my  native  region  in  Scotland,  then  to 
Lancashire  etc.  on  my  way  homewards,  nay  was 
even  a  week  in  Paris ;  f — and  at  last,  for  a 

*  The  Life  of  John  Stirling  (1851). 

f  Carlyle's  journal  of  this  journey  is  published  lately  (1891) 
in  the   New  Review;  "Excursion   (futile    enough)  to  Paris: 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


341 


month  past,  am  safe  at  my  own  hearth  again, 
beautifully  silent  in  this  deserted  season  of  the 
Town-year;  and  on  the  whole  am  much  more 
content  with  my  lot  than  I  have  been  in  the 
past  noisy  months.  Silence,  solitude :  I  find 
this  withal  an  indispensable  requisite  in  life  for 
every  faithful  man  ;  and  have  often  thought  of 
ancient  oriental  Ramadhan  etc.  with  a  real  re- 
gret, and  pity  for  the  modern  generation.  No 
devout  mortal  but  will  long  to  be  alone  from 
time  to  time ;  left  utterly  to  himself  and  the 
dumb  universe,  that  he  may  listen  to  the 
Eternal  voices  withal,  that  the  whirlwinds  of 
dusty  terrestrial  nonsense  may  from  time  to 
time  precipitate  themselves  a  little. 

What  my  next  task  is  to  be  ?  That  is  the 
question !  If  I  were  a  brave  Prussian,  I  believe  I 
should  forthwith  attempt  some  Picture  of  Fried- 
rich  the  Great,  the  last  real  king  that  we  have 
had  in  Europe, — a  long  way  till  t\\Qnext,  I  fear — 
and  nothing  but  sordid  loud  anarchy  till  the 
next.  But  I  am  English,  admonished  towards 
England  ; — and  Friedrich,  too,  is  sure  enough 
to  be  known  in  time  without  aid  of  mine. — 
And  so  I  remain  in  suspense ;  have  however 
got  Preuss'  big  book,  and  decide  to  read  that 
again  very  soon.  I  am  much  at  a  loss  for  maps 
and  good  topographies  on  that  subject :  if  you 
could  select  me  a  very  recommendable  name 

Autumn  1851:  Thrown  on  paper,  when  galloping,  from  Satur- 
day to  Tuesday,  October  4-7." 


342 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


or  two,  it  might  be  of  real  help.  We  have 
huge  map-dealers  here,  a  wilderness  of  wares : 
and  can  get  any  German  thing  at  once,  if  we 
will  know  which.  Item,  I  have  been  reading 
again  (for  curiosity  merely)  about  Catharine 
II.: — you  who  know  Russian  might  guide  me 
a  little  there  too.  Catharine  is  a  most  remark- 
able woman ; — and  we  are  to  remember  that, 
if  she  had  been  a  man  (as  Francis  I.,  Henry 
IV.,  etc.),  how  much  of  the  scandal  attached 
to  her  name  would  at  once  fall  away.  Doubt- 
less you  have  read  Kropomisky's  Tagebucli :  is 
it  good  for  anything?  Are  there  no  Histories 
but  Castera's  and  Took's  ?  Any  news  on  that 
subject  would  be  welcome  too,  some  time 
when  you  are  benevolent  to  me.  Adieu,  my 
dear  Sir,  and  do  not  forget  me ! — 

T.  CARLYLE. 

We  have  lost  Miss  Wynne's  latitude  and 
longitude  in  these  her  travels.  If  she  comes 
to  Berlin,  remind  her  punctually  of  that  fact. 
— Milnes,  as  you  perhaps  know,  is  at  last 
wedded ;  just  returning  from  his  marriage- 
jaunt  :  a  very  eligible  wife  he  got. 

XXIII 

Chelsea,  London:  June  6,  1852. 

My  dear  Sir, — Since  you  last  heard  of  me 
I  have  been  reading  and  inquiring  not  a  little 
about  Frederick  the  Great ;  and  have  often 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


343 


had  it  in  view  to  write  to  you,  but  was  always 
driven  back  by  the  vague  state  of  my  affairs 
in  that  quarter.  For  all  is  yet  vague ;  I  may 
say  chaotic,  pathless ; — and  on  the  whole,  my 
studies  (if  they  deserve  that  name)  have  hith- 
erto served  less  to  afford  me  direct  vision  on 
the  subject,  than  to  shew  what  darkness  still 
envelopes  it  for  me.  Books  here  are  pretty 
abundant  upon  Frederick,  for  he  has  always 
been  an  object  of  interest  to  the  English ;  but 
on  the  whole  not  the  right  Books, — the  right 
Books,  materials  and  helps  are  not  accessible 
here,  and  indeed  do  not  exist  here  even  if  one 
could  (which  I  cannot)  sit  in  the  British  Mu- 
seum to  read  them.  On  the  other  hand,  im- 
portation of  books  from  Germany,  I  find,  is 
untolerably  tedious  and  uncertain : — in  that,  I 
have  to  admit  that  my  real  progress,  in  pro- 
portion to  my  labour,  is  quite  mournfully 
small ;  and  after  struggling  with  so  many  dull 
reporters,  Preuss  (in  all  forms),  Ranke,  Frtdtric 
(CEuvres  de,'  in  two  editions),  Voltaire,  Lloyd 
(Tempelhof*  still  unattainable),  Jomini,  Arch- 
enholz,  Retzow,  not  to  speak  of  Zimmermann, 
Nicolai,  Denina,  etc.,  "  reporters  "  enough, — I 

*  Lloyd's  History  of  the  Late  War  in  Germany  between  the 
King  of  Prussia  and  the  Empress  of  Germany  and  her  Allies, 
containing  "  reflections  on  the  general  principles  of  war  .  .  ." 
London,  1781-9,  was  published  in  a  German  translation  1783- 
1801  by  Tempelhof,  whose  notes  became  the  principal  source  for 
Archenholtz's  History  of  the  Seven  Years'  War, 


344 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


find  the  thing  reported  of  still  hovering  at  an 
immeasurable  distance,  and  only  revealing  it- 
self to  me  in  fitful  enigmatic  glimpses,  not 
quite  identical  with  any  of  the  "  reports "  I 
have  heard  ! — Add  to  which,  I  have  no  definite 
literary  object  of  my  own  in  view,  to  animate 
me  in  this  inquiries ;  nothing  but  a  natural 
human  curiosity,  and  love  of  the  Heroic,  in 
the  absence  of  other  livelier  interests  from 
my  sphere  of  work  at  present :  you  may  fig- 
ure I  have  not  been  a  very  victorious  labourer 
for  the  last  seven  or  eight  months. 

Nevertheless,  I  decidedly  grow  in  love  for 
my  Hero,  and  go  on ;  and  can  by  no  means 
decide  to  throw  him  up  at  this  stage  of  the  in- 
quiry. That  I  should  ever  write  anything  on 
Fic  seems  more  and  more  unlikely  ;  but  per- 
haps it  would  be  good  that  my  reading  upon 
him,  which  has  been  a  kind  of  intermitting 
pursuit  with  me  all  my  life,  should  now  finish 
and  complete  itself  at  last.  Accordingly  friend 
Neuberg,  I  believe,  has  now  another  small 
cargo  of  Books  on  the  road  for  me ;  nay  other 
wider  schemes  of  inquiry  are  opening:  one 
way  or  other,  I  suppose,  I  ought  to  play  the 
game  out. 

From  Raymann's  Kreiskarten,  and  Stieler's 
maps,  joined  to  an  invaluable  old  Biisching* 
which  has  come  to  me,  I  get,  or  can  get  fair 

*  Anton  Friedrich  Btisching,  the  establisher  of  the  political- 
statistical  method   of  geography.     His   principal  work,  Neiie 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


345 


help  towards  all  manner  of  topography :  on  the 
other  hand,  I  greatly  want  some  other  kind  of 
Book  or  Books  which  should  give  me  with  the 
due  minuteness  and  due  indubitability  a  correct 
basis  of  Chronology ;  in  all  former  inquiries,  I 
had  some  Contemporary  set  of  Newspapers, 
Analyse  du  Monitcur,  Commons  Journals,  private 
Diary  or  the  like,  to  serve  me  in  this  respect ; 
but  here  I  have  yet  found  nothing,  and  do 
much  want  something,  the  result  being  always 
an  indispensable  one  with  me,  and  preliminary 
to  all  other  results.  Had  faithful  Preuss  done 
the  QEuvres  de  Fc  according  to  what  I  think 
the  right  plan,  all  would  have  been  safe  in  this 
particular,  in  the  hands  of  so  exact  a  man  :  but 
unfortunately  he  has  looked  on  Fc's  works  as 
literature  (which  they  hardly  are,  or  not  at  all 
are)  and  not  as  Autobiographic  Documents  of 
a  World-Hero  (which  is  their  real  character) ; 
and  their  tying  up  every  little  ounce-weight  of 
different  ware  into  a.  bundle  of  his  own, — we 
have  a  most  perverse  regularity  of  method ';  the 
book,  in  spite  of  its  painful  unrememberable 
annotations,  very  often  unintelligible  to  the 
earnest  reader ;  not  to  be  read  in  any  way  ex- 
cept with  all  the  volumes  about  you  at  once  ; 
and  yielding  at  last  a  result  which  is  quite  be- 
wildering,— not  a  living  hero  and  the  shadow 

Erdbeschreibung,  of  which  he  has  written  himself  the  first  eleven 
volumes, — that  is  to  say  Europe  and  a  part  of  Asia,  in  the  years 
1754-92 — was  continued  after  his  death. 


346  LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 

of  his  history,  but  the  disjecta  membra  of  him 
and  it  From  these  CEuvres,  were  they  even 
completed,  there  will  be  no  Chronology  easily 
attainable. — If  you  know  of  any  such  book  as 
would  serve  me  in  this  particular,  or  can  hear 
of  any,  I  will  beg  you  to  let  me  know  of  it. 
Also  (after  all  my  Biischings  and  Reymanns)  I 
should  be  very  thankful  for  a  little  Topograph- 
ical Dictionary  of  Prussia,  or  even  of  Germany 
(if  not  too  big) :  Blisching's  Indexes  being  hith- 
erto my  only  help  in  this  respect.  Character 
of  place,  sequence  of  time,  Topography  and 
Chronology, — these  are  the  warp  and  woof  of 
all  historical  intelligibility  to  me. 

Another  book  which  I  want  still  more,  if 
there  be  such  a  book,  is  som.e.Biographical'Dic- 
tionary,  or  were  it  even  an  authentic  old  Peer- 
age Book  such  as  we  have  in  England, — or  even 
a  distillation  of  old  Arm}--lists  and  Court  Cal- 
endar,— some  Prussian  Book,  I  mean,  or  gen- 
eral German  Book,  which  would  tell  me  a  little 
who  these  crowds  of  empty  names  are,  at  least 
which  of  them  is  meant,  when  one  hears  them 
mentioned.  This  is  a  quite  frightful  want  with 
me.  There  are  such  multitudes  of  different 
Schwerins  ("of  Schwerins,"  I  somewhere 
heard),  all  of  them  unknown  to  me,  so  many 
Brandenburg -Schwedl  Brunswic  Bewerns, 
half-dozens  of  Dukes  of  Wiirtemberg,  etc. — it 
becomes  like  a  Walpurgis-Nacht,  where  you 
can  fix  some  of  them  into  the  condition  of  visual 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


347 


shadows  at  least!  The  very  Margraves  of 
Baireuth  and  Anspach  are  and  continue  mere 
echoes  to  me. — The  Duchess  of  Saxe-Gotha 
too  (F  's  and  Voltaire's),  I  have  asked  on  all 
sides  who  or  what  she  is  and  nobody  can  so 
much  as  show  me  the  colour  of  a  ribbon  of 
her!  Voltaire's  5,000  letters  (100  times  too 
many)  I  find  as  imperfectly  edited  as  any ;  in- 
deed they  are  three-parts  utterly  illegible  al- 
ready, for  want  of  editing, — and  must  end  by 
being  flung  out,  as  portions  of  Chaos  or  the 
utterly  Dark,  for  most  part  before  very  long,  I 
apprehend.  It  was  Fk  alone  that  first  sent  me 
into  that  black  element,  or  beyond  the  very 
shores  of  it ;  and  I  confess  I  had  no  idea  how 
dark  and  vacant  it  had  grown. — If  you  can 
think  of  any  guide  or  guides  for  me,  in  this 
important  particular  at  once  so  essential  and 
so  completely  unprovided  for,  surely  it  will  be 
a  great  favour.  Of  course  there  are  guides  bet- 
ter or  worse,  to  an  inquiring  stranger ;  and 
the  worst  of  them,  if  only  authentic  and  intel- 
ligible, would  be  a  kind  of  heaven  to  me  in 
this  enterprise. 

Did  you  see  the  Selection  from  Sir  Andrew 
Mitchell's  Correspondence,  two  thick  volumes 
which  appeared  here  some  years  ago  ?  Doubt- 
less they  are  in  some  of  your  Berlin  libraries. 
The  Editor,  one  Birret,  is  a  man  of  some  energy 
and  talent;  but  said  to  be  very  vain  and  ill- 
natured  ;  and  is,  beyond  doubt,  profoundly  ill-in- 


348  LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 

formed  on  the  matter  he  has  here  undertaken. 
There  is  a  letter,  from  a  poor  English  soldier, 
acting  as  servant  to  Marshal  Keith,  which 
gives  some  poor  glimpses  of  Keith  in  his  last 
moments,  and  of  the  terrible  mewing  of  Hoch- 
kirch :  you  must  see  this  poor  Tcbays  letter 
(that  is  the  name  of  him)  for  your  second  edi- 
tion of  "  Keith  " ;  if  you  have  it  not  at  hand, 
pray  apply  to  me  for  a  copy,  which  will  be 
very  easily  got.  It  seems  there  are  large 
masses  of  Mitchell  Correspondence  still  un- 
printed  in  the  British  Museum,  and  various 
MSS.  of  Frederick  included  in  them  ;  which, 
however,  I  believe,  have  been  seen  by  Raumer 
and  other  Prussians.  I  read  Mirabeau*  and 
still  have  him ;  but  except  Maubillon's  f  vol- 
ume on  the  Prussian  soldiers,  I  found  the  rest 
mainly  a  huge  and  to  me  quite  questionable 
lecture  on  Free-trade  &  la  Cobden ; — well  worth 
its  reading  too,  for  Mirabeau  is  Mirabeau 
wherever  one  finds  him.  I  have  often  pictured 
to  myself  the  one  interview  of  Vater  Fritz  and 
Gabriel  Honore  on  the  stage  of  this  world  ! 

But,  on  the  whole,  I  must  now  tell  you  of 
a  project  that  has  risen  here  of  a  little  tour  to 

*  Sur  la  monarchie  prussienne  sous  Frederic  le  Grand (1787). 

f  Mauviilon,  who  collected  the  materials  for  Mirabeau's 
book,  has  written  himself  therein  the  chapter  about  the  tactic  of 
the  Prussian  infantry.  Later  he  has  made  a  German  translation 
of  the  Monarchie  prussienne^  whose  printing  was  finished  only 
after  his  death  (1794). 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


349 


Germany  itself  on  our  part ;  of  which  the  chief 
justification  to  me, — tho'  i\\e  female  mind  with- 
al has  other  views  in  it, — would  be  to  assist 
myself  in  the  inquiries  after  Frederick.  To 
look  with  my  eyes  upon  Potsdam,  Ruppin, 
Rheinsberg,  Kiistrin,  and  the  haunts  of  Fred- 
erick ;  to  see  the  Riesengebirge  country  and 
the  actual  fields  of  Frederick's  ten  or  twelve 
grand  battles  :  this  would  be  a  real  and  great 
gain  to  me.  Hohenfriedberg,  Soor,  Leuthen, 
I  could  walk  these  scenes  as  truly  notable  ones 
on  this  Earth's  surface  ;  footsteps  of  a  most 
brilliant,  valiant  and  invincible  human  soul 
which  had  gone  before  me  thro'  the  countries 
and  left  indelible  trace  of  himself  there.  Then 
at  Berlin,  one  could  see  at  least  immensities  of 
portraits,  Chodowieski  Engravings,  etc.,  which 
are  quite  wanting  in  this  country  ;  as  well  as 
all  manner  of  books  to  be  read  or  to  be  col- 
lected and  carried  home  for  reading ; — not  to 
mention  oral  inquiries  and  communications,  or 
the  very  sight  of  friends  who  might  otherwise 
remain  always  invisible  to  me !  In  short,  I 
think  it  not  unlikely  that  we  may  actually 
come,  my  Wife  and  I,  this  very  summer ;  and 
try  the  business  a  little ;  for  there  are  Hom- 
burg  or  other  watering  places  in  the  game  too, 
and  we  really  both  of  us  need  a  little  change 
of  scene,  after  so  many  years  of  this  Babel. 
The  drawbacks  are  sad  incapacity,  especially 
on  my  part,  for  sleeping,  for  digesting,  for 
23 


350 


LETTERS  FROM   CARLYLE. 


porting  the  conditions  of  travel, — which  are 
sport  to  most  people,  and  alas  are  death  to  poor 
us !  However,  if  the  motive  energy  were  suffi- 
ciently great?  We  can  both  of  us  speak,  or  could 
soon  learn  to  speak,  a  kind  of  Deutsch-Kauder- 
walsch,  which  might  be  intelligible  to  the  quick- 
eared  ;  and  for  me,  I  have  a  certain  readiness  in 
bad  French  as  well.  Miss  Wynne  eagerly  urges 
the  attempt,  on  hygienic  grounds;  others  urge, 
and  in  fact,  there  is  a  kind  of  stir  in  the  matter, 
which  may  perhaps  come  to  something. 

Will  you,  at  any  rate,  be  so  kind  as  to  de- 
scribe to  me  a  little  what  you  reckon  the  re- 
sources of  Berlin  in  regard  to  my  F°  specula- 
tions might  be. — Berlin,  I  conclude,  must  be 
the  headquarter  in  regard  to  all  that ; — and 
mention  especially'  what  the  proper  time,  both 
in  regard  to  climate  and  to  the  presence  of  in- 
structive persons,  might  be  for  visiting  your 
city.  People  speak  of  Berlin  heats,  and  sand, 
and  blazing  pavements,  and  again  of  Berlin 
sleets  and  frosts  :  a  still  more  important  point 
would  be  the  possibility  of  lodging  in  some 
open-aired  and  above  all,  quiet  place  ;  doubt- 
less all  this  is  manageable, — with  a  maximum 
quidem,  and  also  with  a  minimum.  Till  your 
answer  comes,  I  will  stir  no  farther. 

Miss  Wynne,  home  from  Paris  this  good 
while,  seems  as  well  as  ever,  and  quite  beauti- 
ful again.  We  all  salute  Varnhagen. 

Yours  always,          T.  CARLYLE. 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE.  35! 


XXIV 

Dresden  :  Septr.  25,  1852. 

My  dear  Sir, — Here  I  actually  am  in  Ger- 
many, and  have  been  there  three  or  four 
weeks ;  in  my  great  haste  and  confusion  I 
despatch  a  line  to  announce  that  small  fact  to 
you, — and  farther  that  I  hope  to  be  in  Berlin 
itself  (and  to  see  you,  if  I  am  lucky)  about 
Tuesday  or  at  farthest  Wednesday  next.  I 
have  come  up  the  Rhine  from  Rotterdam  ; 
have  been  at  Ems,  Homburg,  Frankfurt,  Wei- 
mar, etc.:  this  afternoon  we  go  towards  Schan- 
dau,  Lobositz;  and  after  Lobositz,  direct  to 
Berlin, — I  suppose  by  Zittau  and  Frankfurt 
a.  O. 

My  wife  is  not  here  ;  she  is  safe  at  home, — 
where  I  wish  I  too  were !  Neuberg  alone 
accompanies  me ;  one  of  the  friendliest  and 
helpfullest  road-companions  man  ever  had.  I 
have  of  course  seen  many  interesting  things  ; 
in  fact  I  have  prospered  well  in  all  respects, 
except  that  /  can  hardly  get  any  sleep,  in  these 
noisy  bedrooms,  in  these  strange  beds  :  in  fact 
it  is  now  four  weeks  since  I  had  a  night  of 
sound  sleep  ;  I  am  obliged  to  help  myself  along 
with  broken  sleep,  in  about  half  the  natural 
quantity,  —  which  circumstance  necessarily 
modifies  very  much  the  objects  I  can  hope 
to  attempt  with  success  in  this  journey  of 


352 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


mine.  To  gather  some  old  books  (on  the  sub- 
ject of  Fk),  to  see  Portraits  and  Places,  this  is 
nearly  all  I  can  aim  at,  as  matters  go. 

Berlin  is  to  be  my  last  station  ;  from  Berlin 
I  go  home  by  the  shortest  route,  and  at  the 
quickest  rate  of  steam  conveyance.  I  calcu- 
late on  staying  there  perhaps  a  week ;  longer 
if  I  cd  get  a  lodging  where  sleep  were  possible  ; 
but  of  that  I  fancy  there  is  no  hope  !  I  am 
habitually  a  bad  sleeper;  cannot  do  with 
noises,  etc.,  at  all :  and  the  arrangements  for 
sleep,  in  all  German  places  where  I  have  tried, 
are  eminently  unsuitable  hitherto. — If  you  or 
any  of  your  people  could  advise  where  a  quiet 
bedroom  was  to  be  had  in  Berlin,  that  would 
be  one  of  the  valuablest  favours !  At  all  events, 
leave  a  line  for  me  "  Berlin,  Poste  restante"  ; 
that  I  may  know  at  once  whether  you  are  in 
Town ;  and  where  to  find  you. — And  now  for 
the  Sachsische  Schweiz,  and  other  confused 
journeyings  !  Yours  always  truly, 

T.  CARLYLE. 

XXV 

Chelsea:  Janr.  15,  1854. 

My  dear  Sir, — Your  "  Billow's  Leben,"  * 
with  the  kind  letter  in  it,  has  come  safe  to 
hand  :  many  thanks  for  so  welcome  and  friend- 

*  Varnhagen  von   Ense,  Leben  des  Generals  Graf  en  Billow 
von  Donnewitz,  Berlin,  1854. 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


353 


ly  a  Gift,  which  so  many  others,  a  long  list 
now,  have  preceded !  It  lay  waiting  for  me 
here,  on  my  return  from  a  short  sad  visit  I 
had  made  to  Scotland,  whither  I  had  been 
called  in  the  mournfullest  errand, — the  death 
of  my  aged,  dear  and  excellent  Mother,  whose 
departure  I  witnessed  on  Christmas  day ;  a 
scene  which,  as  you  can  well  believe,  has  filled 
me  with  emotions  and  reflexions  ever  since, 
and  cannot  for  the  rest  of  my  life  be  forgotten. 
I  have  kept  myself  very  silent,  and  as  solitary 
as  possible,  ever  since  my  return ;  looking  out 
more  earnestly  towards  new  labour  (if  that 
might  but  be  possible  for  me),  as  the  one  con- 
solation in  this  and  in  all  afflictions  that  can 
come.  In  the  evenings  of  last  week,  three  of 
them  at  least,  I  have  read  Billow,  as  an  agree- 
able halting-place  for  my  mind  ;  and  was  very 
sorry  last  night  when  it  ended  upon  me,  as  all 
things  have  to^  do. 

You  have  given  us  a  flowing  Narration,  in 
your  old  clear  style ;  painted  out  a  stormy 
battling  Life-Pilgrimage,  with  many  interest- 
ing particulars  in  it.  Billow  was  not  much 
other  than  a  Name  to  me  before  ;  but  I  possess 
him  now  on  much  closer  terms :  the  man  and 
the  scene  he  worked  in  are  very  vividly 
brought  out  in  this  Book.  Both  in  face  and  in 
character,  I  find  him  an  intensely  Prussian 
Physiognomy ;  really  very  interesting  to  me, 
— with  his  strange  old  Swedenborgian  Father, 


354  LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 

his  wild  Brothers,  and  all  his  peculiar  environ- 
ments and  personalities.  Almost  a  type  Prus- 
sian, as  I  said ;  reminding  me  of  much  that  I 
saw,  and  guessed,  among  your  military  people, 
while  among  you. — Was  that  Tauentrien  a 
kinsman  of  Frederic's  Governor  of  Breslau? 
A  most  ridiculous  figure  he  makes  in  that  pro- 
posed duel  with  Billow  ! — 

I  have  gone  thro'  great  quantities  of  the 
dreariest  Prussian  reading  since  I  saw  you  ; 
but  cannot  boast  to  myself  that  Prussia  or 
Vater  Fritz  becomes  in  the  least  clearer  to  me 
by  the  process.  Human  stupidity  (with  the 
pen,  or  with  other  implements  in  its  hand)  is 
extremely  potent  in  this  Universe !  How  I 
am  to  quit  this  Fritz  after  so  much  lost  labour, 
is  not  clear  to  me  ;  still  less  how  I  am  ever  to 
manage  any  Picture  of  him  on  those  terms. 
Mirabeau,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  is  the  only  man 
of  real  genius,  that  has  ever  spoken  of  him  ;  and 
he  only  in  that  cursory  and  offhand  way.  In 
the  end,  I  suppose  I  shall  be  reduced  to  Fritz's 
own  letters  and  utterances,  as  my  main  re- 
source, if  I  persist  in  this  questionable  enter- 
prise. If  I  had  been  able  to  get  any  sleep  in 
Germany,  my  own  eyes  might  still  have  done 
a  good  deal  for  me  ;  but  that  also  was  not  pos- 
sible :  the  elements  were  too  strong  for  so  thin 
a  skin ;  I  was  driven  half-distracted  after  five 
or  six  weeks  of  that  sort, — and  to  this  hour  the 
Street  of  the  Linden,  and  with  it  all  Berlin,  is 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


355 


uncurably  reversed  to  me  ;  and  I  cannot  bring 
the  North  side  out  of  a  southern  posture  in  my 
fancy,  let  me  do  what  I  will.  I  remember 
Lobositz,  however ;  I  remember  Kunersdorf 
too  in  a  very  impressive  manner  ;  and  wish  I 
had  gone  to  Reinsberg,  to  Prag,  to  Leuthen,  etc. 

My  wife  had  a  pleasant  Note  from  Miss 
Wynne  at  Rome  the  other  day :  Rome  seems 
full  of  interest  to  the  two  fair  Tourists,  and 
they  are  doing  well, — in  the  middle  of  a  large 
colony  of  English  visitants,  if  other  interests 
should  fail.  It  is  a  very  welcome  hope  of  ours, 
at  all  times,  to  see  Miss  Wynne  settled  within 
easy  reach  of  us  again. 

You  must  recommend  me  to  Mademoiselle 
Solmar  *  very  kindly,  if  you  please  :  her  kind 
politeness  to  me  I  often  think  of,  with  real  re- 
gret that  I  was  not  in  a  condition  to  profit  by 
it  more :  such  goodness,  coupled  with  such 
gracefulness, — what  but  five  weeks  of  want  of 
sleep  could  have  rendered  it  of  small  use  to  a 
foreign  wayfarer ! 

We  are  busy  here,  babbling  about  Turk 
wars,  Palmerston  resignation  -  reacceptances, 
Prince-Albert  interferences,  etc., — with  very 
trifling  degree  of  wisdom,  and  to  me  with  no 
interest  whatever.  London,  England  every- 
where are  swelling  higher  and  higher  with 
golden  wealth,  and  the  opulences  which  fools 

*  A  friend  of  Varnhagen  at  Berlin,  who  died  very  old  a  few 
years  ago. 


356  LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 

most  prize  ; — London  in  particular  is  stretch- 
ing, itself  out  on  every  side,  at  a  rate  which  to 
me  is  frightful  and  disgusting ;  for  we  are  al- 
ready two  millions  and  more  ;  and  our  new 
populations  are  by  no  means  the  beautifullest 
of  the  human  species,  but  rather  the  greediest 
and  hungriest  from  all  ends  of  the  Earth  that 
are  flocking  towards  us.  We  must  take  our 
destiny.  "  Unexampled  prosperity,"  fools  call 
it, — by  no  means  I. 

Yours  ever  with  thanks, 

T.  CARLYLE. 

Neuberg  requested  me  lately  to  ask  if  you 
had  got  a  copy  of  his  Heldenverehrung,  and  to 
bid  you  demand  one  appointed,  at  Decker's,* 
if  not. — Adieu. 


XXVI 

Chelsea,  London  :  Aug.  12,  1857. 

My  dear  Sir, — About  ten  days  ago,  there 
came  to  me  a  very  pretty  message  from  Berlin  : 
a  note  from  you  in  the  incomparable  hand  so 
familiar  to  me  of  old,  and  a  beautiful  little 
book,f  which  entertained  me  greatly  for  several 

*  The  GeJieime  Ober-Hoflmchdruckcrei  of  Decker,  who  pub- 
lished the  German  translations  of  Carlyle's  writings. 

f  It  is  the  book  of  Varnhagen's  niece,  Ludmilla  Assing,  en- 
titled :  Grafin  Elisa  -von  A  hie f eld,  die  Gattin  Adolphs  von  Liit- 
zow,  die  Freundin  Karl  Immermanns.  Nebst  Briefen  von  Im- 
mermann,  Moller  und  Henriette  Paalzow.  Berlin  1857. 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


357 


evenings  after.  I  am  truly  glad  to  get  a  word 
from  you,  in  assurance  of  the  old  disposition 
towards  me,  and  marking  that  you  are  still 
well  and  active  ;  such  things  grow  ever  more 
precious  as  one  grows  more  solitary  in  this 
world, — inexorable  time  more  and  more  exer- 
cising his  sad  privilege  upon  us  !  Do  not  for- 
get me  ;  nor  will  I  you, — amid  the  wrecks  that 
go  on  around  us. 

The  book  is  altogether  delightful  reading : 
I  have  sent  it  on,  the  instant  it  was  finished 
here,  to  my  Wife  who  has  run  into  Scotland 
during  the  heats,  and  who  I  dare  say  is  busy 
now  upon  it.  Nothing  can  be  more  gracefully 
thrown  off ;  with  perfect  clearness  too,  so  far 
as  the  circumstances  permitted.  It  gives  me 
curious  glimpses  into  the  latest  chapter  of 
your  Berlin  Histories,  which  was  quite  dark 
to  me  before.  Immermann,  etc.,  I  had  heard 
of ;  but  only  as  rumours  of  Names ;  I  never 
read  anything  of  Immermann, — nor  does  this 
narration  give  me  much  appetite  to  him  :  he 
plays  but  a  sorry  figure  here.  On  the  whole, 
a  tragic  Female  History  throughout ;  things 
all  gone  awry  in  that  and  other  departments, 
and  no  immediate  prospect  of  their  coming 
right  again  !  But  the  Gr&finn  herself  is  very 
beautiful,  in  her  sorrows  and  otherwise  ;  a  fine 
clear  Being, — clear,  sharp,  as  if  she  were  made 
of  steel.  Perhaps  there  are  other  good  books 
upon  that  Freischaar  of  Liitzow's,  and  the  hu- 


358  LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 

man  aspects  of  the  Befreinngskrieg  in  Prussia  ? 
They  would  be  welcome  to  me,  if  they  are  at 
all  like  this  present  one, — had  I  gone  into  a  lit- 
tle leisure  again.  The  last  letter  in  the  book, 
about  digging  up  the  friend's  body,  and  bring- 
ing it  home  to  natal  earth, — has  a  grim  pathos, 
and  silent  Tapferkeit  and  Redlichkcit  that  goes 
into  one's  very  heart. — Ask  the  fair  authoress 
if  she  has  not  other  books  perhaps,  of  the  like 
quality,  lying  in  her  heart !  You  can  assure 
her,  with  my  respectful  homages,  that  I  find 
this  one  a  book  extremely  well  worth  writing, 
and  well  worth  reading. 

For  months  and  years  past  I  have  been 
sunk  as  man  seldom  was,  in  the  dismallest  Sty- 
gian regions,  struggling  with  this  unblessed 
Task  of  mine,  which  I  have  often  thought 
would  kill  me  outright.  You  called  it  a  ge- 
waltiges  subject ;  I  have  often  bethought  me  of 
that  term, — and  that  if  I  had  been  twenty 
years  younger,  it  might  have  suited  better !  but 
now,  there  is  no  help ; — struggle  thro'  to  the 
farther  side,  or  else  drown :  that  is  the  condi- 
tion.— We  are  now  at  last  fairly  at  Press;  slow- 
ly printing, — I  flying  slowly  ahead.  In  an- 
other twelvemonth  (if  all  can  hold  out)  there 
may  be  three  volumes  ready, — down  to  Deer. 
1745  ; — and  the  worst  part  of  the  job  done. 
Taliter  qualiter,  dreadfully  talitcr  indeed  ! — At 
present  I  am  in  very  great  want  of  books,  Mag- 
azines, Essays,  or  any  real  Elucidations  by  per- 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


359 


sons  of  veracity  and  insight,  about  the  two  Si- 
lesian  wars  (1740,  1744).  Guerre  de  BoJieme,  Es- 
pagnac  (Marshal  Saxe)  and  the  terrible  im- 
broglio called  Helden-Staats-und  Lcbens-Ge- 
schichte,  are  almost  my  only  resources  hitherto. 
Miss  Wynn,  you  doubtless  know,  is  at 
Heidelberg.  My  Wife  was  sadly  ill  the  whole 
of  last  winter ;  and  is  still  too  weak.  Milnes  is 
looking  towards  Heidelberg  too,  he  tells  me. 
Weather  is  very  hot ;  News  from  India,  etc. : 
good  news  in  fact  are  scarce. 

Yours  ever  truly,        T.  CARLYLE. 

XXVII 

Chelsea  ,  Oct.  7,  1857. 

My  dear  Sir, — Many  thanks  for  your  two 
notes  to  me, — for  your  kind  thought  in  regard 
to  that  matter  of  "  Voltaire  at  Frankfurt."  *  I 
already  had  a  copy  of  that  excellent  little  tract, 
— fruit  of  your  goodness  to  me  at  its  first  ap- 
pearance ; — and  have  again  studied  it  over, 
more  than  once,  since  these  investigations 
began.  It  lies  bound  up  with  other  interest- 
ing pieces  of  a  kindred  sort ;  ready  for  use 
when  the  time  comes.  But  you  are  not  to 
think  this  second  copy  wasted  either ;  the 
little  pamphlet  itself  I  have  already  turned  to 

*  Reprinted  in  vol.  viii.  of  Denkwilrdigkeiten  und  ver- 
mischte  Schriften,  von  K.  A.  Varnhagen  von  Ense,  after  his 
death  (1858),  published  by  Ludmilla  Assing  (1859). 


360  LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 

good  account  for  my  interests  ; — and  the  fact  of 
its  being  sent  me  on  those  terms  has  a  value 
which  I  would  not  willingly  part  with. 

How  often  have  I  wished  that  I  had  you 
here  "as  a  Dictionary"  !  but  there  is  nothing 
such  attainable  in  these  latitudes : — the  truth 
is,  I  should  have  come  to  Berlin  to  write  this 
book :  but  I  did  not  candidly  enough  take 
measure  of  it,  before  starting,  or  admit  to  my- 
self, what  I  dimly  felt,  how  " gewaltig"  an 
affair  it  was  sure  to  be  !  In  that  case,  I  had 
probably  never  attempted  it  at  all.  Nobody 
can  well  like  his  own  performance  worse  than 
I  in  this  instance,  but  it  must  be  finished  taliter 
qualiter.  Nay,  on  the  whole  it  needed  to  be 
done  :  the  English  are  utterly,  I  may  say  dis- 
gracefully and  stupidly  dark  about  all  Prus- 
sian and  German  things  ; — and  it  did  behove 
that  some  Englishman  should  plunge,  perhaps 
on  his  mere  English  resources,  into  that  black 
gulph,  and  tear  up  some  kind  of  human  foot- 
path that  others  might  follow. — At  any  rate,  I 
hope  to  get  it  done  •  and  that  will  be  reward 
enough  for  me,  after  the  horrible  imprison- 
ment I  have  had  in  it  so  long. 

The  Edinburgh  Review  on  Goethe  I  have 
not  seen:  somebody  told  me  it  was  by  Mrs. 
Austin,  whom  you  may  remember :  "  Hat 
nichts  zu  bedeuten,"  there  or  here.  Nor  Lord 
Brougham's  speculations  on  the  Great  Fried- 
rich  any  more ; — the  speculations  of  Lord 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE.  361 

Brougham's  horse  are  as  well  worth  attending 
to.  And  indeed  are  about  as  much  attended  to 
by  the  best  kind  of  people  here !  For  I  am 
happy  to  say,  there  is,  sparingly  discoverable, 
a  class  among  us  of  a  silent  kind,  much  su- 
perior to  that  vocal  one  ; — and  many  a  "  Palm- 
erston,"  "  Crimean  War,"  etc.,  as  mirrored 
in  the  Newspapers  and  in  the  heads  of  these 
Stillen  im  Lande  would  surprise  you  by  the 
contrasts  offered.  What  they  call  "  Liberty  of 
the  press  "  is  become  a  thing  not  beautiful  to 
look  at  in  this  country,  to  those  who  have 
eyes! 

The  Indian  mutiny  is  an  ominous  rebuke. 
It  seems  probable  they  will  get  it  beaten  down 
again,  but  I  observe  those  who  know  least 
about  it,  make  lightest  of  it.  What  would 
Friedrich  Wilhelm  have  said  to  such  an 
"army  "  as  that  black  one  has  been  known  for 
thirty  years  past  to  be  ! — Miss  Wynne  has  re- 
turned to  us ;  bright  as  ever.  Adieu  dear  Sir, 
take  care  of  yourself  thro'  the  grim  months. 
Yours  ever  truly, 

T.  CARLYLE. 

The  little  Ahlefeld  book  (tell  Madame)  is  a 
great  favourite  here,  as  it  deserves  to  be,  with 
all  who  see  it. 


LETTER 

OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE  TO  KARL 
EDUARD  VEHSE 

(Born   1802,  died  1870), 

AUTHOR  OF  "GESCHICHTE  DER  DEUTSCHEN  HOPE  SEIT  DER 
REFORMATION,"  48  VOLS.,  HAMB.  1851-58,  "  SHAKESPEARE 
ALS  POLITIKER,  PSYCHOLOG  UND  DICHTER,"  2  VOLS.,  HAMB. 
1851,  AND  OTHER  BOOKS. 

5,  Cheyne  Row,  Chelsea,  London:  Octr.  n,  1853. 

My  dear  Sir, — Since  I  saw  you  last  year 
in  Dresden,  I  have  been  reading  a  great  many 
of  your  books ;  finding  in  them,  as  all  the 
world  does,  abundant  entertainment,  and  end- 
less matter  for  reflexion.  It  is  very  surprising 
to  me  how  you  have  contrived  to  amass  such 
a  quantity  of  floating  information  on  things 
seldom  formally  recorded  ;  and  how  correct  it 
all  is ;  at  least  how  correct  our  British  part  of 
it  is,  which  I  naturally  take  as  a  sample  of  the 
whole.  You  do  often  name  your  authorities, 
which  is  a  great  satisfaction  to  every  careful 
reader ;  if  you  had  in  all  cases  done  so,  it 
would  among  other  advantages  have  saved 
you  the  trouble  of  this  Note,  which  I  had 
long  had  it  in  view  to  venture  upon  writing 


LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 


363 


to  you,  containing  the  two  following  inqui- 
ries : — 

1.  Can  you  tell  me,  in  what  book  or  books 
that  account  of  George  the  First's  Death  is  to 
be  found, — with  all  the  tragic  particulars  be- 
tween Velden  and  Osnabriick  ; — and  in  general 
what  is  the  chief  book  for  the  secret  history  of 
George  the  First  ?    In  English  I  remember  only 
Horace  Walpole,  and  Coxe ;  in  German  I  have 
got  the  Herzogin  von  Alilden,  which  you  often 
refer  to,  and  Aurora  von  Konigsmark :    but,   I 
think,  you  must  have  had  some  better  book 
than  any  of  these. 

2.  In  one  of  your  Histories, — I  think  that 
of  the  Prussian  Hof,  tbut  have  unfortunately 
mislaid  all  reference  to  it, — you  quote  from  the 
ambassador  Mitchell  a  sentence  which  I  never 
can   forget ;    to   the   effect :   "  If   the    English 
would  give  up  talking  (in  their  Parliaments 
etc.)  and  were  led  on  by  such  a  man  (as  Fried- 
rich  the  Great),  what  might  they  not  accom- 
plish ! "     These  are  not  the  words ;  but  that 
is  the   sense ;    and    I   am    extremely  anxious, 
and  shall  indeed  thank  you  much,  if  you  can 
have  the  goodness  to  tell  me  wherein  Mitchell 
the  passage  is  to  be  found.    As  was  said,  I  can 
now  find  no  reference  to  it  in  any  of  my  Note- 
books ;  I   did  not  find  it  in  our  English  book 
of  the  Mitchell  Papers,  nor  is  it  in  Raumer  that 
I  can  see ;  nor  did  I  yesterday  succeed  in  hunt- 
ing it  up  out  of  your  own  book  on  the  Prussian 


364  LETTERS  FROM  CARLYLE. 

Court:  at  the  same  time  I  have  the  liveliest 
remembrance  of  reading  it  in  one  of  your 
books ;  so  that,  being  really  anxious  to  get 
hold  of  the  thing,  I  am  obliged  to  send  my 
question  to  you  in  this  vague  shape  (not  quite 
so  bad  as  Nebuchadnezar's  dream,  but  too 
like  that  celebrated  production  of  the  human 
mind !) — and  must  appeal  to  your  charity  to 
summon  out  your  own  better  remembrance, 
on  my  behalf.  I  think  the  words  must  cer- 
tainly be  in  the  Preussische  Haf,  or,  failing 
that,  there  is  only  the  Hannoverische  to  be 
looked  to.  Please  discover  for  me,  if  you  pos- 
sibly can. 

It  is  only  this  second  question  that  I  am 
essentially  concerned  in ;  but  if  you  can 
answer  the  first  also,  it  will  of  course  be  wel- 
come,— tho'  in  that  case,  who  knows  if  it  will 
be  the  last  I  may  ask  of  you  in  the  progress 
of  my  reading ! 

Believe  me,  Dear  Sir,  sincerely  yours, 

THOMAS  CARLYLE. 


TRANSLATION  OF 

SOME   NOTES   OF  VARNHAGEN 

ABOUT  CARLYLE'S  FIRST  VISIT   TO 

BERLIN    1852. 

CARLYLE 

Tieck  told  me  he  was  greatly  surprised, 
even  astonished,  at  Carlyle  when  he  visited 
him  here.  His  appearance  was  wretched,  not- 
withstanding his  ruddy  face ;  his  dress  was 
extremely  slovenly,  and  his  behaviour  boor- 
ish ;  and  it  was  evident  that  he  was  not  un- 
conscious of  these  things,  but  that  he  gloried 
in  them.  Tieck  mentioned  Coleridge  almost 
at  the  beginning  of  the  conversation,  when 
Carlyle  broke  out  in  immoderate  laughter 
— a  laughter  which  it  could  be  perceived 
was  forced,  and  was  quite  offensive.  Tieck 
asked  him  with  cool  seriousness,  "  Why  do 
you  laugh?"  upon  which  Carlyle  stopped, 
and  said,  with  grave  tone  and  mien,  "  Oh, 
no ! "  He  knew  well  that  to  talk  seriously 
about  Coleridge  would  be,  etc.  Now  it  was 
still  more  the  question  why  he  laughed.  But 
no  answer  was  returned  to  it.  Foolish  vanity  ! 
At  his  complaints  of  traveller's  troubles  and 
24 


366  NOTES  OF  VARNHAGEN. 

taverns,  that  there  were  no  quiet  rooms  here, 
no  curtained  beds,  that  he  had  no  books  about 
Frederick  the  Great,  which  he  wanted  much, 
that  he  wished  to  see  and  hear  nothing  incom- 
patible with  the  object  of  his  journey,  and  at 
his  distorted  views  of  the  importance  of  the 
great  King,  Tieck  sympathetically  shrugged 
his  shoulders,  and  thought  it  would  be  better 
for  Carlyle  not  to  write  about  him.*  Tieck 
spoke  German  with  Carlyle.  His  English,  he 
said,  he  had  too  nearly  forgotten. 

(Signed) 

VARNHAGEN. 

Jan.  1854. 


CARLYLE 

1852. 

In  Berlin  Carlyle  dined  with  the  banker 
Magnus,  who  had  invited  many  distinguished 
guests  on  his  account,  among  others  Privy 

*  So  also  thought  the  historian  Heinrich  Leo,  who  wrote  on 
the  loth  of  February,  1853,  to  Varnhagen  :  "  Of  Carlyle's  Fred- 
erick II.  I  never  expected  nmch,  although  I  have  been  charmed 
with  other  of  his  works,  especially  with  the  first  part  of  his 
Past  and  Present,  and  with  his  Cromwell.  His  History  of  the 
French  Revolution  has  also  excellent,  sublime  pages,  only  too 
much  of  the  magic  lantern.  But  Englishmen,  even  Germanized 
Englishmen,  have  not  a  clear  understanding  of  Prussians  and 
Prussian  magnificence — as  Anglicised  Germans  (for  example, 
Bu.  [Bunsen])  are  no  better  off.  Carlyle's  Frederick  will,  as  I 
believe,  be  like  a  blind  man's  treatise  on  colors.  Instead  of 
Nature,  artful  floundering,  as  a  matter  of  course. 


NOTES  OF   VARNHAGEN.  367 

Councillor  Wiese  and  like  pious  folk.  The 
conversation  turned  upon  Goethe,  and  after 
much  had  been  said  in  his  praise,  and  his  great- 
ness had  been  admiringly  acknowledged  by 
all,  Wiese  could  not  restrain  himself,  and  with 
devout  air  and  gestures  lamented  that  so  great, 
so  gifted  a  mind  had  not  possessed  the  blessing 
of  faith,  and  had  not  consecrated  its  strength 
to  the  glory  of  the  Lord.  Several  joined 
heartily  in  this  strain  of  attack.  Carlyle  be- 
came uneasy,  and  made  a  variety  of  unpleasant 
faces.  At  last  he  brought  both  arms  down 
upon  the  table,  and,  leaning  forward,  began  in 
his  heavy,  long-drawn  way  and  his  halting 
German,  with  a  loud  voice :  "  Gentlemen  !  do 
none  of  you — then — know  the  old  story — how 
a  man  reviled  the  sun — because  he — couldn't 
light  his  cigar — at  it?"  The  confounded 
guests  were  silent,  and  perceived  with  shame 
that  they  had  been  mistaken  in  this  Englishman. 
(Signed) 

VARNHAGEN  VON  ENSE. 

This  story  was  already  known  from  Lewes's 
Life  of  Goethe.  Lewes  heard  it  in  Berlin  from 
an  artist,  whose  name  he  does  not  give. 


LETTERS 

OF  JANE   WELSH   CARLYLE  TO 
AMELY   BOLTE,    1843-1849. 


5,  Cheyne  Row:  December  23,  1843. 

Unmenschliche  ! — Are  you  become  so  in- 
oculated with  the  commercial  spirit  of  this 
England,  that  you  will  no  longer  write  to  me 
but  on  the  debtor-and-creditor  principle  ?  Are 
I  no  longer  to  have  any  privileges — moi  ?  no 
longer  to  receive  two  or  three  or  even  four 
letters  for  one,  in  consideration  of  my  worries 
and  my  indolence  ?  So  you,  at  least,  seem  to 
have  resolved !  But  thank  heaven  there  are 
still  generous  spirits  among  my  correspond- 
ents who  despise  such  balancing  of  accounts : 
who  rain  down  letters  on  me  "  thick  as 
autumnal  leaves  "  without  asking  even  whether 
I  read  them ! — And  you  think  no  shame  of 
yourself,  cold-blooded  calculating  little  Ger- 
man that  you  are? — Well  then,  open  your 
ledger  and  set  down  now  in  black  and  white : 
"  Mademoiselle  Bolte  debtor  to  Mrs.  Carlyle — 
in  one  letter  to  be  paid  immediately — no  credit 
given" 


LETTERS  FROM  MRS.  CARLYLE. 


369 


What  are  you  doing-  and  thinking,  and 
wishing,  and  hoping, — for  in  Devonshire  I  sup- 
pose people  can  still  hope — even  in  December — 
here  the  thing  is  impossible.  On  the  dark  dis- 
mal fog  which  we  open  our  eyes  upon  every 
morning,  there  is  written  as  on  the  gate  of  the 
citta  dolente,  alias  Hell :  "  Lasciate  ogni  speran- 
za  voi  che  entrate."  And  many  things  besides 
speranza  have  to  be  thrown  overboard  as  well. 
To  keep  one's  soul  and  body  together  seems  to 
be  quite  as  much  as  one  is  up  to  under  the  cir- 
cumstances. I  attempt  nothing  more.  As 
there  is  nothing  which  I  so  much  detest  as 
failure  where  I  have  ivilled,  so  I  take  precious 
care  never  to  will  anything  as  to  which  I  have  a 
presentiment  of  failing.  My  husband  is  more 
imprudent,  he  goes  on  still  willing  to  write  this 
Life  of  Cromwell  under  the  most  desperate  ap- 
prehension that  it  will  "  never  come  to  any- 
thing " — and  as  if  people  had  the  use  of  their 
faculties  in  all  states  of  the  atmosphere  !  And 
so  he  does  himself  a  deal  of  harm  and  nobody 
any  good.  He  came  into  this  room  the  other 
morning  when  I  was  sitting  peaceably  darn- 
ing his  stockings,  and  laid  a  great  bundle  of 
papers  on  my  fire,  enough  to  have  kindled  the 
chimney,  if  it  had  not  been,  providentially, 
swept  quite  lately — the  kindling  of  a  chimney 
(as  you  in  your  German  ignorance  may  per- 
haps not  be  aware)  subjecting  one  here  in  Lon- 
don to  the  awful  visitation  of  three  fire-engines ! 


370          LETTERS  FROM  MRS.  CARLYLE. 

besides  a  fine  of  five  pounds  !  I  fancied  it  the 
contents  of  his  waste-paper-basket  that  he  was 
ridding  himself  of  by  this  summary  process. 
But  happening  to  look  up  at  his  face,  I  saw  in 
its  grim  concentrated  self-complacency  the 
astounding  truth,  that  it  was  all  his  labour 
since  he  returned  from  Scotland  that  had  been 
there  sent  up  the  vent,  in  smoke !  "  Me  had 
discovered  over  night  "  he  said  "  that  he  must 
take  up  the  damnable  thing  on  quite  a  new 
tact !  "  Oh  a  very  damnable  thing  indeed  !  I 
tell  you  in  secret,  I  begin  to  be  seriously  afraid 
that  his  Life  of  Cromwell  is  going  to  have  the 
same  strange  fate  as  the  child  of  a  certain 
French  marchioness  that  I  once  read  of,  which 
never  could  get  itself  born,  tho'  carried  about 
in  her  for  twenty  years  till  she  died  !  A  wit  is 
said  to  have  once  asked  this  poor  woman  if 
"  Madame  was  not  thinking  of  swallowing  a 
tutor  for  her  son  ?  "  So  one  might  ask  Car- 
lyle  if  he  is  not  thinking  of  swallowing  a  pub- 
lisher for  his  book  ?  Only  that  he  is  too  mis- 
erable poor  fellow  without  the  addition  of 
being  laughed  at.  In  lamenting  his  slow 
progress,  or  rather  non-progress  he  said  to  me 
one  day  with  a  naivete  altogether  touching, 
"  Well !  They  may  twaddle  as  they  like  about 
the  miseries  of  a  bad  conscience  :  but  I  should 
like  to  know  whether  Judas  Iscariot  was  more 
miserable  than  Thomas  Carlyle  who  never  did 
anything  criminal,  so  far  as  he  remembers  \ " 


LETTERS  FROM  MRS.   CARLYLE. 


371 


Ah  my  dear,  this  is  all  very  amusing  to  write 
about,  but  to  transact  ?  God  help  us  well  thro' 
it !  And,  as  the  Kilmarnock  preacher  prayed, 
"  give  us  all  a  good  conceit  of  ourselves,"  for 
this  is  what  is  chiefly  wanted  here  at  present ! 
If  my  husband  had  half  the  conceit  of  himself 
which  shines  so  conspicuous  in  some  writers  I 
could  name,  he  would  "take  it  aisy"  and  re- 
generate the  world  with  rose-water  (twaddle], 
as  they  do,  instead  of  ruining  his  digestive 
organs  in  the  manufacture  of  oil  of  vitriol  for 
that  purpose ! 

Your  little  friend  Miss  Swan  wick  called 
here  the  other  day  looking  ineffably  sweet ! 
almost  too  sweet  for  practical  purposes  !  "  That 
minds  me  "  (as  my  Helen  says)  I  received  by 
post  a  little  while  since  a  letter  in  a  handwrit- 
ing not  new  to  me,  but  I  could  not  tell  in  the 
first  minutes  whose  it  was.  I  read  the  first 
words :  "  Oh  those  bright  sweet  eyes !  "  I  stop 
amazed,  "  as  in  presence  of  the  Infinite  !  " 
What  man  had  gone  out  of  his  wits?  In  what 
year  of  grace  was  I  ?  What  was  it  at  all  ? — I 
looked  for  a  signature — there  was  none  !  I 
turned  to  the  beginning  again  and  read  a  few 
words  more :  "  There  is  no  escaping  their  be- 
witching influence  !  "  "  Idiot !  "  said  I,  "  who- 
ever you  be ! "  having  now  got  up  a  due 
matronly  rage  !  I  read  on  however.  "  It  is 
impossible  that  such  eyes  should  be  unaccom- 
panied with  a  benevolent  heart ;  could  you  not 


372 


LETTERS  FROM  MRS.  CARLYLE. 


then  intercede  with  the  possessor  of  them  to 
do  me  a  kindness?  The  time  of  young  ladies  is 
in  general  so  uselessly  employed  that  I  should 
think  you  would  really  be  benefitting — Miss 
Swanwick  (!)  in  persuading  her  to — translate 
for  me  those  French  laws  on  pawnbroking!  " 
Now,  the  riddle  was  satisfactorily  solved  1 
The  "bright  swe'et  eyes"  were  none  of  mine 
but  Miss  Swan  wick's ;  and  the  writer  of  the 
letter  was  Robertson  who  you  may  remember 
I  told  you  raved  about  those  same  eyes — to  a 
weariness  !  My  virtuous-married-woman-indig- 
nant blushes  had  been  entirely  thrown  away  ! 
It  was  too  ridiculous !  But  could  you  have 
conceived  of  such  stupidity — even  among 
authors — as  this  of  beginning  a  letter  to  one 
woman  with  an  apostrophe  to  the  eyes  of 
another  ? 

My  German  friend  has  returned  from  Ger- 
many safe  and  sound,  and  brought  me  thence 
a  highly  curious  gage  d1  amour,  which  is  caus- 
ing a  sort  of  general  panic  among  my  admir- 
ers. Old  Sterling  in  particular  is  furious  at  it 
and  likens  it  to  the  Devil's  tail  (where  he  saw 
the  Devil's  tail,  whether  at  the  Times  newspa- 
per-office, or  in  what  other  unholy  place,  I  did 
not  like  to  ask).  The  thing  is  the  most  splen- 
did, most  fantastical,  altogether  inconceivable 
— bell-rope !  Made  for  me  by  the  hands  of 
Plattnauer's  countess-sister.  A  countless  num- 
ber of  little  Chinese  pagodas,  of  scarlet  network 


LETTERS  FROM  MRS.  CARLYLE. 


373 


festooned  with  white  bugles,  are  threaded  on  a 
scarlet  rope,  ending  in  a  "  voluptuous"  scarlet  tas. 
sel,  which  again  splits  itself  away  into  six  little 
bugle-tassels  !  For  three  days  and  three  nights 
I  was  in  the  dreadfullest  perplexity  what  to 
do  with  it !  To  ring  up  one's  one  maidservant 
with  such  a  bell-rope  would  have  been  an  act 
of  inconsistency  all  too  glaring !  besides  I 
should  have  been  always  fearing  when  I  pulled 
it  that  I  should  bring  a  shower  of  bugles  about 
my  ears !  So  I  decided  finally  to  give  it  a 
sinecure-place  beside  the  drawing-room-door, 
where  there  is  no  bell- wire  but  only  a  brass- 
headed  nail  to  suspend  it  from  !  "  Don't  you 
admire  it  there  ?  "  I  asked  my  husband  after  it 
was  hung  up.  "  Oh  yes,"  said  he,  "  certainly  ! 
— as  a  splendid  solecism !  as  one  admires  a 
beautiful  idiot!  " 

But  it  strikes  me  that  considering  your  de- 
merits, my  dear,  I  am  here  writing  you  an  ab- 
surdly long  letter!  The  fact  is  that  I  have 
not,  I  find,  got  quite  rid  of  what  somebody 
described  as  "  that  damned  thing  called  the 
milk  of  human  kindness  " — and  I  bethink  me 
that  on  Christmas  day  you  will  be  feeling  sad 
more  or  less.  When  one  is  far  from  one's  own 
land  and  own  friends,  those  anniversaries,  how- 
ever they  may  be  cheered  for  one  by  present 
kindness,  always  bring  the  past  and  distant 
strangely  and  cruelly  near  and  make  one  long  as 
one  dares  not  long  every  day  to  be  as  one  has  been  ! 


374          LETTERS  FROM  MRS.   CARLYLE. 

A  word  of  encouragement  and  sympathy  from 
a  fellow-sufferer  under  these  anniversary-feel- 
ings may  be  some  little  comfort  to  you,  at  all 
rates  it  is  such  comfort  as  I  have  to  give,  and 
if  I  had  any  better  you  should  have  it  with  a 
blessing — and  so  this  is  why  I  write  just  to- 
day ;  because  I  mean  that  you  should  read 
my  letter  on  Christmas. 

Give  my  kindest  regards  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Duller  and  a  kiss  to  Theresa,  who  I  hope  is 
striding  thro'  all  departments  of  human  knowl- 
edge in  seven-leagued  boots  and  carrying  all  the 
cardinal  virtues  along  with  her  ! 

I  send  you  a  little  thing  for  good  luck  to 
your  new  year.  And  so  I  commend  you  to 
Providence  and  your  own  sound  little  judg- 
ment, which  is  a  very  good  deputy  for  Provi- 
dence on  this  earth, — and  remain  with  sincere 
good  wishes  very 

Kindly  yours 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

Bay  House:  Wednesday  (1845.) 

Ah  my  dear  little  friend  !  I  am  so  sorry  for 
the  disappointment  that  is  awaiting  you !  and 
yet, — should  I  like  that  you  were  not  to  leel 
some  disappointment  on  finding  me  no  longer 
there  to  welcome  you  back  ?  Certainly  not.  I 
shall  have  been  here  a  fortnight  on  Saturday 
— how  much  longer  we  remain  depends  on 
others  than  me — for  me  I  never  can  do  long 


LETTERS  FROM  MRS.  CARLYLE. 


375 


well  in  idleness — unless  indeed  in  the  idleness 
of  Seaforth-House,  which  feels  to  be  a  sort  of 
preparation  for  future  exertion,  a  gathering  of 
new  strength  from  touching  the  bosom  of 
Mother  Earth.  But  at  Seaforth-House  (?)  it 
is  not  so  much  idleness  as  indolence — and  the 
difference  is  immense.  The  one  is  a  repose 
for  the  faculties,  the  other  a  strenuous  waste 
of  them. — Mr.  Charles  Duller  is  here — no  other 
visitor  for  the  present  besides  ourselves. 

Lady  Harriet  is  perfectly  kind  for  me  and 
I  admire  her  more  and  more,  but  do  not  feel  to 
be  more  intimate  with  her.  I  fear  she  is  too 
grand  tor  ever  letting  herself  be  loved — at  least 
by  an  insignificancy  like  me.  I  could  love  her 
immensely  if  she  looked  to  care  for  it. 

I  have  a  very  stupefying  headache  to-day 
and  afraid  of  having  to  betake  myself  to  bed, 
but  I  would  in  the  first  place  send  you  this 
scrap  that  you  might  have  some  shadow  of  a 
welcome  from  me  on  your  return. 

By  and  by  I  shall  be  back  and  then ! 
Ever  your  affectionate 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

5,  Cheyne  Row :  (1848). 

My  Dear, — Having  constituted  yourself  a 
little  Providence  for  your  friends  you  must 
take  the  consequence  of  being  applied  to  in 
all  sorts  of  contingencies.  But  you  are  a  rash 
slap-dash  Providence  and  your  interventions 


376          LETTERS  FROM  MRS.  CARLYLE, 

often  miscarry  thro'  this  over-zeal.  So  I  pray 
you  not  only  to  come  to  my  aid  with  your 
good  intentions,  but  to  do  it  with  a  certain  prac- 
tical deliberation.  My  maid  is  going  away 
and  I  must  have  another.  The  reasons  for  my 
parting  with  her  need  not  be  stated  here — 
enough  that  she  is  to  go — and  I  must  again 
endure  the  horrors  of  a  household-revolution, 
a  hateful  thought,  just  now,  whilst  I  am  still 
confined  to  the  house,  and  good  for  so  little 
in  it. 

By  communicating  my  want  to  the  trades- 
people or  by  putting  an  advertisement  in  the 
newspapers  I  might  have  plenty  of  servants 
sent  me  to  look  at, — but  such  over-plenty  !  and 
a  chance  whether  one  would  be  found  among 
them  worth  the  trouble  of  investigating — and 
this  year  I  have  not  poor  Christie  to  receive 
the  whole  swarm  and  send  me  only  such  as 
seemed  to  have  some  feasibility  for  my  pur- 
poses. 

Miss  Wynne  has  a  Welsh-woman  out  of  a 
situation  of  whom  she  spoke  to  me  some  time 
since,  in  case  of  my  hearing  of  a  place  for  her ; 
but  she  does  not  think  her  adequate  to  my  own 
service.  Tho'  she  says  so  much  good  of  her 
that  I  have  her  to  let  me  at  least  judge  of  her 
with  my  own  two  eyes. 

It  would  be  a  kindness  to  me  then  if  you 
would  inquire  among  your  acquaintance  if 
what  Mr.  Duller  calls  "  a  treasure  "  be  known 


LETTERS  FROM  MRS.  CARLYLE. 


377 


to  any  of  them.  You  should  know  by  this 
time  the  sort  of  person  I  need — and  such  a  one 
is  more  likely  to  be  heard  of  among  your  poor- 
er acquaintance  than  the  rich  ones.  A  servant 
out  of  a  fine  house  would  not  content  herself  in 
mine  nor  could  I  ever  reconcile  myself  to  the 
ways  of  such  a  one. 

If  you  hear  of  any,  write  to  me  and  tell  me 
her  particulars  before  sending  her  here — for 
there  is  great  awkwardness  in  refusing  any 
one  sent,  when  one  don't  like  her  on  examina- 
tion. 

There  are  Servants'  Homes  and  Places  I  be- 
lieve where  one  can  have  choice  on  paying 
something.  But  I  am  not  well  enough  to  vent- 
ure out  yet  on  such  errands.  My  cough  has 
been  worse  of  late  days  and  I  have  had  mus- 
tard blisters  on  and  been  bothered  consider- 
ably. 

Lady  Harriet  was  here  yesterday  and  met 
Miss  Wynne  at  the  parlour  door.    I  never  saw 
two  such  tall  women  in  my  room  together. 
Ever  affectionately  yours, 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

Epsom  :  Sunday,  Febr.  18,  1849. 

My  dear  Amalie, — I  am  still  here  with  no 
particular  wish  to  return  to  London.  Never- 
theless as  we  live  in  a  conditional  world  with 
duties  to  do  better  and  worse — and  "  forms  of 
Society  "  to  attend  to,  and  above  all  a  lot  of 


378          LETTERS  FROM  MRS.  CARLYLE. 

silverspoons  to  look  after,  it  behoves  me  to  go 
back  to-morrow.  Then  the  first  business  re- 
quiring my  attention  may  have  to  be  trans- 
acted with  you  yourself.  I  shall  call  for  you  to- 
morrow betwixt  2  and  3  P.M.,  when  I  hope  it 
will  not  be  inconvenient  for  you  to  receive  me 
for  a  few  minutes.  Don't  get  into  any  appre- 
hensions that  I  am  empowered  to  make  any 
proposal  to  you  of  either  legitimate  or  illegiti- 
mate nature,  having  no  superfluity  of  lovers 
on  hand  at  present,  while  people  are  so  uni- 
versally occupied  with  politics. 

But  times  may  mend  for  us  women — one 
lives  in  hope. — Meanwhile  it  is  an  innocent  lit- 
tle concern  of  a  daily  soreness  I  have  to  speak 
about.  You  having  always  plenty  of  that  sort 
of  things  which  it  is  a  convenience  to  yourself 
as  well  as  to  others  to  dispose  of.  N.B. — 
Beauty  to  be  dispensed  with. 

Affectionately  yours, 
JANE  W.  CARLYLE. 

Friday,  March  (1849). 

You  divined  perfectly  right,  Dear,  as  to  the 
intention  part  of  it ;  Lady  A.  was  to  "  take  me 
with  her  to  Addiscombe "  and  we  were  to 
have  gone  yesterday,  to  stay  till  Monday  or 
Sunday,  as  I  meant  to  have  told  you  in  time  to 
spare  you  a  vain  journey  on  Sunday. 

But  Lady  A.  felt  too  unwell  yesterday  for 
making  a  journey  in  such  bitter  cold — so  put 


LETTERS  FROM  MRS.  CARLYLE. 


379 


off  till  to-day,  and  to-day  I  have  another  note 
from  her  putting  off  into  the  vague.  I  am 
thankful ;  tho'  I  should  have  stood  to  my  en- 
gagement I  was  wishing  greatly  I  had  not 
made  it — this  weather  taking  all  spirit  of  en- 
terprise out  of  me. 

Thanks  for  the  offer  of  Music,  but  I  found 
the  only  concert  of  that  sort  I  ever  tried  dread- 
fully wearisome  and  besides  a  concert-room  in 
this  weather!  Oh  my  dear!  "  Dinna  speak 
o' it !  " 

Yesterday  on  my  way  to  Oxford  Street  in 
quest  of  warm  stockings  I  called  on  your  milli- 
ner— but  saw  nothing  to  excite  my  cupidity. 
Besides,  the  things  seemed  to  me  much  about 
the  usual  shop-price ! 

Thanks  for  all  your  "  delicate  attentions." 
I  rather  wish  you  had  been  "  a  man,"  for  if 
anything  could  rouse  a  spirit  in  one  it  would 
surely  be  the  getting  oneself "  eloped  with  " 
and  I  think  you  understand  me  better  than  any 
male  lover  ever  did — hang  them  all ! 
Your  affectionate 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

(August  6,  1849). 

Thanks  Dear.  I  send  the  address  to  Count- 
ess Pepoli  by  this  post,  and  yours, — and  she 
can  communicate  with  you  on  the  not-young 
lady  herself — or  await  my  return  on  Monday 
if  she  likes  that  best. 


380          LETTERS  FROM  MRS.  CARLYLE. 

As  for  Figgy — do  not  name  that  little  viper 
to  me  again !  And  if  you  wish  to  avoid  seri- 
ous difficulties  material  as  well  as  moral  you 
will  let  her  and  her  concerns  alone.  I  find 
anybody  furious  at  what  is  considered  your 
impertinent  and  ill-intentioned  interference 
with  her — for  she  herself  makes  herself  a  merit 
with  the  others  of  showing  you  up!  She  took 
the  last  I  must  say  very  ill-advised  letter  you 
wrote  her  to  Captain  Robinson  and  said,  "  See 
here  what  an  impertinent  and  most  improper 
letter  Miss  Bolte  has  written  to  me.  I  mean 
to  write  to  her  that  she  is  to  send  me  no  more 
such  letters  and  that  my  mind  is  quite  made 
up  to  go  to  India  " — and  she  writes  to  Hen- 
ning  (he  had  all  the  letters  here  yesterday) 
that  she  is  quite  satisfied  that  going  to  India 
is  best,  etc.,  to  buy  a  certain  dog  for  her  she 
had  seen  in  the  Park ;  and  to  get  her  a  new 
dress.  Pray  keep  from  mixing  yourself  fur- 
ther in  the  concerns  of  such  a  little  traitor  or 
it  will  be  the  worse  for  you.  Lady  A.  is  high- 
ly indignant  at  the  unauthorized  use  made  of 
her  name.  /  also  might  be  a  little  indignant 
at  having  mine  used  in  inciting  the  wretch  to 
open  rebellion.  But  that  you  are  the  most  in- 
discreet little  woman  in  the  world  is  no  news 
to  me  !  I  did  not  mean  to  have  told  you 
anything  of  all  this  till  I  could  do  it  viva 
voce,  but  having  to  write  at  any  rate  I  may 
as  well  put  you  on  your  guard,  and  advise 


LETTERS  FKOM  JMtS.  CAKLYLE.          381 

you  to  give  over  meddling  in  what  you  can- 
not mend.        Ever  yours  affectionately, 

JANE  CARLYLE. 

All  you  say  to  Figgy  out  of  mistaken  com- 
passion is  repeated  to  Henning  and  CapL 
Robinson,  etc.,  and  you  are  made  to  look  a  sort 
of  Demon  lying  in  wait  for  her  soul.  So  pray 
be  quiet  if  you  can. 

5,  Cheyne  Row :  Aug.  14,  iS^. 

My  poor  little  woman ! — I  can  quite  under- 
stand your  intention  "  to  scream  " — I  have  the 
same  feeling  myself  very  often — a  notion  to 
scream  for  four  and  twenty  hours  without  stop- 
'  ping ! — not  over  the  treachery  of  one  good  for 
nothing  Figgy  but  over  the  treachery  of  the 
species  generally — and  indeed  over  what  Mr. 
Carlyle  calls  "the  whole  infernal  caudle  of 
things  " !  What  /  object  to  you  is  not  so  much 
what  I  call  your  indtscrctwn  as  a  certain  ktcd- 
Ifssness  of  judgement — thro*  which  you  fly  at 
helping  everybody  in  every  difficulty  without 
having  first  satisfied  yourself,  that  the  difficulty 
is  solubk,  or  the  person  capable  ofkavixg  it  solved 
— for  you  know  the  proverb  "  one  man  may 
take  a  horse  to  the  water  but  twenty  cannot 
make  it  drink."  And  where  one  tries  to  lead 
a  girl  without  truth  or  affection  like  Figgy  by 
noble  ways  to  noble  aims,  it  is  a  labour  which  a 
little  consideration  of  the  laws  of  nature  might 

»5 


382  LETTERS  FROM  MRS.  CARLYLE. 

have  spared  one.  All  the  trouble  you  take  for 
an  unhelpable  person  is  so  much  out  of  the 
pocket  of  some  other  who  could  have  been 
helped.  But  you  have  heard  enough  of  Figgy 
for  the  present  1  should  think — I  shall  merely 
add  that  I  have  taken  upon  me  to  send  those 
letters  of  hers  to  Lady  Ashburton  (deserving 
to  have  them  back)  that  she  might  see  how  lit- 
tle the  correspondence  was  of  your  seeking — 
and  how  detestably  the  girl  had  behaved  to 
you.  Her  guardians  talked  much  of  their  de- 
termination to  put  an  end  to  your  "  interfer- 
ence "  with  her.  I  said  the  girl  had  done  that 
herself  I  should  suppose,  when  she  carried 
your  letter  to  Capt.  R.  and  declared  she  would 
"  order  you  to  write  to  her  (!)  no  more  in  such 
a  foolish  strain  " — that  if  you  found  her  work 
interferely  with  after  that  you  must  be  fit  for 
Bedlam ! 

Capt.  R.  was  going  to  write  to  you  they 
said  —  whoever  writes  to  you  and  whatever 
they  say  :  I  advise  you  to  hold  you  peace  al- 
together—  if  permissible  —  if  you  must  an- 
swer something  to  make  your  words  as  few 
and  cold  and  impassible  as  you  can. 

I  did  something  after  your  energetic  fashion 
last  night ;  Miss  Heerman  came  to  me  at  seven, 
to  say  she  must  decide  about  the  other  situa- 
tion to-day — I  liked  her  appearance  and  man- 
ner very  much  and  so  did  Mr.  Carlyle.  So 
rather  than  let  her  slip  thro'  their  fingers,  I 


LETTERS  FROM  MRS.  CARLYLE. 


383 


put  on  my  things  tired  as  I  was  with  my  jour- 
ney and  walked  off  with  her  thro'  the  dark 
lanes  to  Countess  Pepoli  at  Kensington.  She 
was  in  a  great  quantum  of  indecision  but  prom- 
ised to  settle  the  matter  in  the  morning — and 
she  did — at  eleven  she  came  here,  having  first 
been  to  Miss  Heerman,  to  tell  me  she  had  en- 
gaged her.  I  hope  it  will  answer  on  both  sides. 
I  wish  Capt.  S.  had  got  her — he  thinks  his  fat 
lump  sadly  ignorant. 

The  habit-shirt  is  a  great  hit ! — the  very 
sort  of  thing  I  have  wanted  for  long — some- 
thing that  would  cover  my  neck,  which  looks 
very  bad  at  this  date,  and  at  the  same  time 
not  give  one  the  appearance  of  having  a  sore 
throat.  Thank  you  heartily  for  your  pains. 

My  maid  was  so  glad  to  have  me  back  and 
had  everything  so  clean  !  A  real  jewel  she  is ! 
For  her  too  I  have  to  thank  you  every  day.  /, 
you  see,  am  one  of  the  helpable,  so  you  had  bet- 
ter stick  to  helping  me  in  my  various  needs. 
I  will  go  to  see  you  some  morning,  if  the 
weather  mend  before  Sunday. 

Ever  affectionately  yours, 

JANE  CARLYLE. 


THE    END. 


T 


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had  been  a  contemporary  with  the  people  whose  civilization  and  social  usages  are 
very  largely  restored."  —  Boston  Herald. 

A  most  interesting  and  instructive  book.  Excellent  and  most  impressive  ideas, 
also,  of  the  architecture  of  the  two  countries  and  of  the  other  rude  but  powerful  art  of 
the  Assyrians,  are  to  be  got  from  it."  —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  The  ancient  artists  are  copied  with  the  utmost  fidelity,  and  verify  the  narrative  so 
attractively  presented."  —  Cincinnati  Times-Star. 


THREE  PROPHETS:  Chinese  Gordon; 
Mohammed-Ahmed  ;  Araby  Pasha.  Events  before,  during, 
and  after  the  Bombardment  of  Alexandria.  By  Colonel 
CHAILLE-LONG,  ex-Chief  of  Staff  to  Gordon  in  Africa,  ex- 
United  States  Consular  Agent  in  Alexandria,  etc.,  etc.  With 
Portraits.  l6mo.  Paper,  50  cents. 

"  Comprises  the  observations  of  a  man  who,  by  reason  of  his  own  military  ex- 
perience in  Egypt,  ought  to  know  whereof  he  speaks."  —  Washington  Post. 

"  The  book  contains  a  vivid  account  of  the  massacres  and  the  bombardment  of  Alex- 
andria. As  throwing  light  upon  the  darkened  problem  of  Egypt,  this  American 
contribution  is  both  a  useful  reminder  of  recent  facts  and  an  estimate  of  present  situa- 
tions." —  Philadelphia  Public  Ledger. 

"  Throws  an  entirely  new  light  upon  the  troubles  which  have  so  long  agitated 
Egypt,  and  upon  their  real  significance."  —  Chicago  Times. 

*TTHE   MEMOIRS    OF    AN   ARABIAN  PRIN- 
•*         CESS.     By  EMILY  RUETE,  #/<?  Princess  of  Oman  and  Zanzi- 

bar.    Translated  from  the  German.     I2mo,     Cloth,  75  cents. 
The  author  of  this  amusing  autobiography  is  half-sister  to  the  late  Sul- 
tan of  Zanzibar,  who  some  years  ago  married  a  German  merchant  and  settled 
at  Hamburg. 

"  A  remarkably  interesting  little  volume.  .  .  .  As  a  picture  of  Oriental  court  life, 
and  manners  and  customs  in  the  Orient,  by  one  who  is  to  the  manner  born,  the  book  is 
prolific  in  entertainment  and  edification."  —  Boston  Gazette. 

"The  interest  of  the  book  centers  chiefly  in  its  minute  description  of  the  daily  life 
of  the  hous_ehold  from  the  time  of  risinguntil  the  time  of  retiring,  giving  the  most  com- 
plete details  of  dress,  meals,  ceremonies,  feasts,  weddings,  funerals,  education, 
slave  service,  amusements,  in  fact  everything  connected  with  the  daily  and  yearly 
routine  of  life."—  Utica  (N.  Y.)  Herald. 


New  York :    D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  i,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


BRER  RABBIT   PREACHES. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

A  NEW  BOOK  BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  "UNCLE  REMUS." 

ON     THE     PLANTA- 
TION.   By  JOEL  CHANDLER 
HARRIS.     With  numerous  II- 
lustrations  by  E.  W.  KEMBLE. 
I2ino.     Cloth,  $1.50. 
The  announcement  of  a  new  vol- 
ume by  Joel  Chandler  Harris  will  be 
welcomed  by  the  host  of  readers  who 
have  found  unlimited  entertainment 
in  the    chronicles   of    Uncle  Remus. 
On  the  Plantation   abounds   in   stir- 
ring incidents,  and  in  it  the  author 
presents  a  graphic  picture  of  certain 
phases  of  Southern  life  which  have  not 

appeared  in  his  books  before.  There  are  also  some  new  examples  of 
the  folk-lore  of  the  negroes  which  became  classic  when  presented  to 
the  public  in  the  pages  of  Uncle  Remus. 

This  charming  book  has  been  elaborately  illustrated  by  Mr.  E.  W. 
Kemble,  whose  thorough  familiarity  with  Southern  types  is  well  known 
to  the  reading  public.  The  book  is  uniform  with  Uncle  Remus,  and 
contains  in  all  twenty-three  illustrations. 

From  the  Introductory  Note. 

"  Some  of  my  friends  who  have  read  in  serial  form  the  chronicles 
that  follow  profess  to  find  in  them  something  more  than  an  autobio- 
graphical touch.  Be  it  so.  It  would  indeed  be  difficult  to  invest  the 
commonplace  character  and  adventures  of  Joe  Maxwell  with  the  vitality 
that  belongs  to  fiction.  Nevertheless,  the  lad  himself,  and  the  events 
which  are  herein  described,  seem  to  have  been  born  of  a  dream.  That 
which  is  fiction  pure  and  simple  in  these  pages  bears  to  me  the  stamp 
of  truth,  and  that  which  is  true  reads  like  a  clumsy  invention.  In  this 
matter  it  is  not  for  me  to  prompt  the  reader.  He  must  sift  the  fact  from 
the  fiction  and  label  it  to  suit  himself." 


New  York :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,   i,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

MODERN   SCIENCE   SERIES. 
Edited  by  Sir  JOHN  LUBBOCK,  Bart.,  F.  R.  S. 

The  works  to  be  comprised  in  the  "  Modern  Science  Series  "  are  primarily  not  for 
the  student,  nor  for  the  young,  but  for  the  educated  layman  who  needs  to  know  the 
present  state  and  result  of  scientific  investigation,  and  who  has  neither  time  nor  inclina- 
tion to  become  a  specialist  on  the  subject  which  arouses  his  interest.  Each  book  will 
be  complete  in  itself,  and,  while  thoroughly  scientific  in  treatment,  its  subject  will,  as 
far  as  possible,  be  presented  in  language  divested  of  needless  technicalities.  Illustra- 
tions will  be  given  wherever  needed  by  the  text.  The  following  are  the  volumes  thus 
far  issued.  Others  arc  in  preparation. 


T 


CAUSE  OF  AN  ICE  AGE.     By  Sir  ROBERT 

BALL,  LL.  D.,  F.  R.  S.,  Royal  Astronomer  of  Ireland,  author  of 
"Starland."     I2mo      Cloth,  $1.00. 

"  Sir  Robert  Ball's  book  is,  as  a  matter  of  course,  admirably  written.  Though  but  a 
small  one,  it  is  a  most  important  contribution  to  geology."  —  London  Saturday  Review. 

"A  fascinating  subject,  cleverly  related  and  almost  colloquially  discussed."  —  Phila- 
delphia Public  Ledger. 

"  An  exceedingly  bright  and  interesting  discussion  of  some  of  the  marvelous  phys- 
ical revolutions  of  which  our  earth  has  been  the  scene.  Of  the  various  ages  traced  and 
located  by  scientists,  none  is  more  interesting  or  can  be  more  so  than  the  Ice  age;  and 
never  have  its  phenomena  been  more  clearly  and  graphically  described,  or  its  causes 
more  definitely  located,  than  in  this  thrillingly  interesting  volume."  —  Boston  Traveller. 


HORSE:  A  Study  in  Natural  History.  By 
WILLIAM  H.  FLOWER,  C.  B.,  Director  in  the  British  Natural 
History  Museum.  With  27  Illustrations.  I2mo.  Cloth,  $1.00. 

"The  author  admits  that  there  are  -3.800  separate  treatises  on  th«  horse  already  pub- 
lished, but  he  thinks  that  he  can  add  something  to  the  amount  of  useful  information 
now  before  the  public,  and  that  something  not  heretofore  wrilten  will  be  found  in  this 
book.  The  volume  gives  a  large  amount  of  information,  both  scientific  and  practical, 
on  the  noble  animal  of  which  it  treats."  —  New  York  Commercial  Advertiser. 

"  A  study  in  natural  history  that  every  one  who  has  anything  to  do  with  the  most 
useful  of  animals  should  possess.  The  whole  anatomy  is  very  fully  described  and  illus- 
trated." —  Philadelphia  Bulletin. 


'TT 

•*• 


HE  OAK:  A  Study  in  Botany.     By  H.  MARSHALL 

WARD,  F.  R.  S.     With  53  Illustrations.     I2mo.     Cloth,  $l.oo. 

"  An  excellent  volume  for  youn.e  persons  with  a  taste  for  scientific  studies,  because 
it  will  lead  them  from  the  contemplation  of  superficial  appearances  and  those  generalities 
which  are  so  misleading  to  the  immature  mind,  to  a  consideration  of  the  methods  of 
systematic  investigation."  —  Boston  Beacon. 

"  From  the  acorn  to  the  timber  which  has  figured  so  gloriously  in  English  ships 
and  houses,  the  tree  is  fully  described,  and  all  its  living  _and  preserved  beauties  ard 
virtues,  in  nature  and  in  construction,  are  recounted  and  pictured."  —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 


New  York  :   D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  I,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street 


DATE  DUE 


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